


Dark Places

by Violet_Verses



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America Steve, Drug Abuse, Drugged Sex, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Bucky Barnes, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitution, Protective Steve, Rape/Non-con Elements, Relationship(s), Sex Work, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4882885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Verses/pseuds/Violet_Verses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...A shock of familiarity coursed through him, but he couldn’t explain why. </p><p>Whatever it was, those eyes were beautiful. And kind. And that was something Bucky had never thought about anyone. Ever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Since I was young  
> Feel I been running out of time...

It was raining. Of course it was raining. In June.

And because it was raining, and so cold that it might as well be winter (in the arctic) the streets of Brooklyn were almost completely deserted.

Although it was late, or early depending on who you asked, the light from the flickering street lights overhead and glaring headlights of cars as they sped down the side roads or trawled curbs added an almost comforting glow to the darkness that clung to the buildings and alleys. The only people around were bums, drunks and hookers. And, obviously, the people looking for hookers; they were the only people Bucky was interested in tonight, or any night really.

He wrapped his arms around his chest and huffed a breath into his collarbone, relishing in the momentary warmth that spread over his skin. He was definitely regretting not wearing a jacket. Then again, maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be $200 better off than he was at the start of the evening. That second guy had really liked the fact that his, already admittedly flimsy, sweater was practically soaked through. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, and it made it a lot easier for clients to see what they were getting that way. Subtlety was a lost and underappreciated art within the sex industry it seemed. 

Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to care; as long as he got paid he was good with whatever. Well, not _good_ but… fine. Just fine. He could deal with it.

A shiver ran through him, very rudely interrupting his thoughts and drawing his attention back to how damn freezing it was. His legs were definitely shaking underneath the skintight leather pants he had somehow managed to pull back onto his body after the last client.

The disgusting mix of sweat, rain water and other, more questionable, substances on his thighs had made Bucky panic and for a second all he could think about was a Friends episode he had seen once where Ross had been in a similar, albeit less porn-y, more PG, predicament. By this point he had been shoved out of the car they had been in and was standing on the sidewalk, alone, with no talc in sight. He had had to really put all of his strength into getting into the pants before anyone walked by and quite frankly Bucky didn’t really feel up to doing that for a third time that night.

It was dead anyway, his usual haunts pretty much abandoned by anyone who looked like they could even halfway afford him and, honestly, he was exhausted. He had worked every night that week and even picked up a few extra shifts at the café down the street during the day, just for some extra cash to give his sister. He needed to sleep, even though it was 3.30am and he had to be awake to pick Becca up from Mrs Parker’s for school at 8, a few hours would at least make his head feel less fuzzy.

Sticking as close to the buildings as he could to shelter himself from most of the downpour, Bucky turned the corner into the short alley between O’Hannerty’s bar and the café he worked at occasionally to earn extra cash, keeping his head low and his arms wrapped around his front.

He walked quickly, the streets weren’t exactly picturesque or safe, even during the day and especially not at night, and as much as he knew he could take care of himself in most situations, he really didn’t want someone taking the money he had made that evening. It had happened before and he would rather not have to explain to Rumlow why he didn’t have his boss’s cut, again.

It hadn’t been fun last time, from what he could remember anyway. He had woken up in hospital four days later with a fractured skull and bruises all over his thighs and back so he assumed that Brock had not taken the loss well. They had never spoken about it again.

A sudden spluttering cough from up ahead made Bucky stop in his tracks. A man, definitely. Chances were it was just a drunk throwing up or something but better safe than sorry.

Bucky pulled a small flick-knife from his boot and continued forward, eyes darting around the dark alley for the source of the sound. He could barely see his own feet let alone- There! Just near the end of the alleyway was a man, hunched over a dumpster, clutching his right side and coughing pretty violently for someone who looked like they could maybe have a couple of broken ribs.

 ** _Don’t get involved, don’t draw attention to yourself, keep going, don’t-_** The man gasped in pain and his knees buckled. **_Fuck it_**.

“Urm, dude, you ok?”

The man coughed again and his entire body slumped against the wall. He really didn’t look good. Well, he _did_ , from what Bucky could see of the man’s face in the dark, but he was also a total mess. There was something running down the side of his face and a large patch of it congealed in his otherwise light hair. Bucky had been in enough fights to know blood when he saw it, even in the dark and a good 10 feet away and he was pretty sure that that much coming from a head wound was never a good thing. 

“Hey, fella, you hear me?”

Still no reply, just a slight wheeze and then the guy collapsed fully, ass landing right in a puddle of what was probably a heady mix of rain water and bin-juice. Bucky grimaced to himself and took a few tentative steps forward. He wasn’t an idiot; there was no way he was going to get up close and personal to the dude. In his experience, huge, strange men in alleys were either criminals or perverts and he had no desire to be robbed, murdered or fucked tonight.

Well, fucked _again_ …

“Seriously, are you, like, dying or something? Is there someone I should call? Ambulance, family, the- the morgue?”

Bucky’s teeth were chattering now. It was seriously, _fucking_ cold. And he was wet through, the last client from earlier hadn’t even taken him to a bloody hotel, he had just fucked him in the backseat of his, rather disgusting, Volvo; right between a beaker and a child’s booster seat. Bucky had had to shut his eyes for that one. Hell, forget a hotel, a motel would have been fine. Anywhere there was a hot shower and towels.

Bucky shivered and crouched down so he was eye-level with the man. He didn’t look drunk or high or off his fucking head on something a lot stronger. Just seriously beat up. He placed the knife back in his boot and shuffled forward, just out of arms reach of the man. Not that the guy seemed to have any idea that there was anyone there to reach towards.

In fact, Bucky couldn’t be 100% sure that the dude was even breathing any more.

Once, when he and Becca were watching Animal Planet, Caesar Milan had started clicking his fingers in dogs’ faces to get their attention and they had stopped barking or growling or just generally being dicks and did whatever the hell he told them to do.

Bucky shrugged; it was worth a try. He clicked his fingers in the guy’s face. Nothing.

He sighed. Animal Planet – 0, hunky, strange alley-men – 1.

This was getting boring. There was no more business to conduct, it was still raining and he was still hanging around in the freezing cold worrying over some stranger who was probably going to wake up any second and try and strangle and/or beat him to a bloody pulp. He was smarter than this.

**_Please, no you’re not, you’re a fucking idiot and you know it._ **

Bucky shuffled over so he was sitting on his haunches, just to the man’s left. He waved his hand in front of the dude’s face.

“Urm, guy? I’m gonna just call an ambulance, ‘kay?” He rooted around in his other boot and pulled his phone out of the front, flipping it open. It was a shitty little disposable cell that Rumlow had given him ‘for emergencies only’. “This totally counts right?” Bucky murmured, more to himself than to the comatose man next to him. Unsurprisingly, there was no reply “Yeaaah, that’s what I thought too”. He dialed 911 and waited for the operator

“ _Hello, what service do you require?_ ” Bucky hesitated for a moment before answering

“Urm, maybe an ambulance? Wait, definitely an ambulance. We’re in an alley off Penn Ave in Brooklyn. There’s a massive, gross-looking dumpster out the front with ‘free rides here’ scrawled on it. Lovely place, can’t miss it.”

He could hear the faint sound of typing down the other end of the line and then the transferal tone.

“ _Hello, Brooklyn borough emergency services. An ambulance is being dispatched to your location immediately. What is the emergency?_ ” Bucky took a deep breath before replying

“There’s this guy in this alley. He’s totally beat up, has a pretty bad head injury and probably more but he’s unconscious and I didn’t want to just go feelin’ up comatose strangers. But yeah, he’s pretty out of it and-“

The guy groaned and flopped his left hand towards Bucky’s knee. He flinched away from it instinctively and the hand smacked into the concrete.

_**Jesus, pull yourself together, he’s not gonna do anything. At least, not in this state…** _

“ _Sir_?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, he’s awake now. Kind of. Still looks like death.”

“ _Can you speak to him, sir, try and get base responses: name, age, things like that?_ ”

“Sure” Bucky shifted back to the man’s side.

He was clutching at his side with his right hand, his left still sitting on the concrete next to him.

Steeling himself, Bucky reached out slowly and touched the man’s hand tentatively. The other man immediately flipped his hand over and linked his fingers with Bucky’s, squeezing hard through what, if his grip was anything to go by, was quite a lot of pain

“Ow, dude, please don’t crush my hand, I’m kind of attached to it… Literally”

Bucky allowed himself a little smirk at that. He loved a good pun. So did the man, apparently, because he huffed what Bucky assumed was a laugh (although it could just have easily been a grunt of pain).

“So’’y” he muttered. Bucky’s eyebrows raised involuntarily.

“Soy? S’that got to do with anythin’?”

“No. Sorry” The stranger whispered.

“Ohhh. _That_ would make more sense. And no worries. Wha’s your name?”

The blood supply to Bucky’s legs was definitely starting to get cut off. Leather pants, as it turned out; great for pulling tricks, terrible for life-saving, or whatever the hell he was doing.

He lowered himself down to sit next to the guy. They were shoulder to shoulder now and Bucky could feel the guy’s muscles through his hoody. And, _wow_.

He kind of felt bad about it, but he experienced a small pang of relief that the guy was so pathetic right now. The thought of being alone in an alley with him when his brains weren’t running down his face was terrifying. Bucky wasn’t physically weak, no matter how much some situations called for him to act that way, but this guy could overpower him in seconds.

 ** _What the hell is wrong with you that you think about that before how hot he is? Fuck sake._** Bucky resisted the urge to hold his phone against his shoulder and poke the man’s bicep with his finger. Barely.

“S’Steve. I’m Steve” The guy mumbled. His eyes were still closed and he was curling forward, still holding his ribs with his unoccupied hand.

“Okay Steve, hey, I’m-“ He paused. The 911 operator was definitely listening to this conversation and he really didn’t want them to have his name. So James was out of the question. Nickname it was. “Bucky. You know where you are?” Steve nodded his head forward slightly

“Br’klyn”

“Mm-hm. Pretty vast area but sure, good enough. Where are you hurt, except your head? That one’s obvious”

Steve huffed another maybe-laugh and nodded towards his right side.

“Fell off a thing. Landed on my side, must’a hit my head too. But they were following so I had to run and I ran into you… and then I don’t know”

“Well, then you passed out and fell in gross garbage water so I guess you’re just havin’ a pretty shit day, kid”

Steve smiled at that, just a slight upturn of his mouth and relaxed back slightly against the wall. Bucky grinned back, even though the guy- Steve’s- eyes were still shut.

“S’not the best”

“ _That’s good Bucky, keep him talking please. The ambulance is about half a minute away from you._ ”

The operator sounded, if not bored by the conversation, then at least weary of it. She clearly didn’t appreciate the witty repartee he had going.

_**Please, you’re about as interesting as watching beige paint dry while listening to Lana Del Rey.** _

“So these people following you, they’re not about to sneak up on me and, like, karate chop me are they? Hang on, you weren’t robbing a place were you? Oh my _God_ , did you fall off of a fire escape after robbing some nice old lady and her butch, protective sons are chasing you down to get her stuff back?”

Steve shook his head, effectively cutting off Bucky’s descent into a full-blown self-induced anxiety attack.

“No. Well, it was a fire escape but no old lady. Just a fight. These agen-… people came to my flat and s’rrounded me bu’ took most of ‘em down, fought a bit and fell off the darned thing. They chased but lost ‘em in the side streets. It’s fine. I’m fine. You should really get inside, it's freezing. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be good to go in a second. Just hurts a bit”

“A BIT? Jeeze kid. You fell off a fucking roof. And I’m not just gonna leave ya, there’s an ambulance coming and everything. You’re insane, you know that?“

Steve smiled again and nodded slightly, wincing as his neck jarred.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that, if you can believe it?”

“Uh huh, somehow I do actually. You really-“

Bucky’s babbling was cut off by the sudden arrival of a very loud and very welcome ambulance. The rain distorted the lights from the siren, sending red flashes bouncing around the alley. He shut his eyes against the sudden onslaught of light and spoke into the phone

“Hey, thanks lady, they’re here”

“ _Not a problem, good luck_ ”

Bucky hung up the phone and stashed it back in his boots. His hand was still gripped in Steve’s, he seemed reluctant to let go, even as the paramedics jumped from their vehicle and made their way towards them.

The panic that had been simmering just below the surface suddenly leapt its way to the forefront of Bucky’s mind as the two men leaned over them, effectively blocking any chance Bucky had of getting up and leaving.

People. He hated people, with their judge-y eyes and hidden intentions.

The only reason he had stuck around as long as this was that Steve wasn’t looking at him; that he could deal with, he was used to it.

One of the men was speaking but Bucky wasn’t listening, just looking down at his and Steve’s hands and trying to keep his breathing steady. The last thing he needed right now was to have a panic attack.

**_Pull yourself together, Steve’s actually sick, there’s nothing wrong with you. Pathetic._ **

“…the ambulance?” The rain ran into Bucky’s eyes as he blinked up to find the source of the voice. The man hunching over them was clearly waiting for a response, his eyebrows raised and his mouth in a grim line as he looked between Bucky and his colleague who was having a low conversation with Steve next to him.

Both of the men had poorly hidden looks of surprise on their faces, although they were obviously trying desperately to cover it up with an air of professionalism that Bucky could only admire.

They were probably wondering what a guy like Steve was doing sitting in an alley with someone like Bucky.

**Maybe they think you did this to him, maybe that’s what the other guy is asking Steve right now…**

He shook his head suddenly, clearing away the intrusive thoughts. He didn’t have a hope of hearing what they were saying over the sound of the rain hammering off the metal dumpsters in the alley.

“What? S-sorry” Bucky stammered, scolding himself over the way his voice shook momentarily.

**_Pathetic._ **

“Are you the one that called the ambulance?” The man repeated, raising his voice slightly as though he thought Bucky couldn’t hear him because of the downpour.

“Oh, yeah”

Bucky nodded his head quickly and made to stand up so he could move out the way. Steve looked over at him as he shifted to the balls of his feet and Bucky’s very focused, careful breathing was interrupted yet again. A shock of familiarity coursed through him, but he couldn’t explain why. Whatever it was, those eyes were beautiful. _And kind_. And that was something Bucky had never thought about anyone. _Ever_.

Inexplicably, he stopped trying to move away. Steve smiled at him almost guiltily.

“Sorry about this. You can, you know, go if… I’m sure you have better things t’do…”

He trailed off, still looking up at Bucky with those frankly ridiculous eyes. What was he supposed to say to that?

**_Yeah okay, laters?_ **

“I mean. You need to go to hospital right?” Bucky looked at the paramedic next to him and he nodded back, slowly, as if it was completely obvious which, he supposed, it probably was. “Right, so I should, like, come with you? At least until someone you actually know comes and stuff”

The offer was out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. He felt his own eyes widen slightly as he comprehended what he had just offered but covered it up with, what he hoped was, a comforting smile. For some reason he really didn’t want to leave Steve.

The paramedic tending to Steve poked delicately at his ribs and Steve winced involuntarily, closing his eyes for a long second before replying

“You really don’t have to. I’m alright, just a few knocks and I heal up pretty quickly anyway…”

Bucky felt his face flush despite the cold.

**_He doesn’t want you to come with him, idiot. Why would he want that? Pathetic. Of cour-_ **

“Unless, I mean,” Steve tilted his head to the side slightly, his blue eyes searching Bucky’s face for something “it’s freezing out and you are kind of soaked through. Maybe you should get checked out too? Just in case.”

**_Great, now you have complete strangers pitying you. Could you be any more obvious?_ **

Bucky forced a lopsided, cheeky grin onto his face, the one he always used to pick up clients. It was a very reliable tool.

“Nah. S’fine” Bucky lowered his voice to a stage-whisper “got no insurance anyway.”

He winked at Steve and got to his feet, still holding Steve’s hand. He didn’t want to let go. He could half-convince himself that it was only because it felt ridiculously warm compared to his own cold, shaking one, but even he wasn’t that good a liar.

If Steve was relieved that he was leaving, he didn’t show it, just furrowed his brows slightly. As Bucky looked embarrassedly down at him, he seemed to come to a decision about something in his own mind though, because the small frown disappeared and he smiled that small smile back up at him.

“Give a guy a hand then?”

Bucky blinked owlishly down at Steve for a second. That kind of statement wasn’t usually a suggestion, more of an order and certainly occurred under very different circumstances than the one they were in now.

“Jeeze, at least buy a guy a drink first, Stevie” he blurted out.

Steve seemed to realise what he had said because he flushed pretty spectacularly for a guy who looked like an actual dead person.

“I mean, I didn’t mean…” He took a visible breath, grimacing slightly as his ribs undoubtedly cracked and then smiled guiltily “I mean, do you mind helping me up?”

Bucky grinned back and, with one of the paramedics, helped lift Steve to his feet. Standing chest to chest with him, Bucky could tell that he was a couple of inches shorter than Steve, and unquestionably a few clothes sizes smaller.

Under any other circumstances, Bucky would probably make a joke about living in the gym or steroid abuse being a very serious affliction but now was probably not the time to try and make Steve laugh, considering his ribs were busted up. He would file it away and tease him about it some other time when-

 ** _No, you won’t. He’s going to go back to his life and you’ll go back to yours and he’s going to forget all about the dirty little whore that sat in a gross alley with him one night. Get over it and get out of here._**  

Bucky felt the grin fall from his face and he stepped back, looking down at his feet and letting go of Steve as the second paramedic bustled in between them to take Steve’s other arm.

“Alright kid, we’ve got it from here. Thanks for your help.”

Bucky nodded and drew a sharp breath in. He could feel Steve’s eyes on his face and in his peripheral vision he could see him open his mouth to say something.

Bucky schooled his expression into a blank mask.

**_Snap out of it._ **

He didn’t hesitate for a second as he spun on his heel and ducked out the alleyway onto his street. He didn’t look back. Not even when he thought he heard Steve call his name.

Home, food, sleep. That was what he needed, that was _all_ he needed. And hey, he had done his good deed for the year, if karma was an actual thing and not just a bunch of shit, then maybe he’d have some good luck coming his way. He could sure use it.

Then again, maybe it would just help balance the scales slightly; he had a lot of red in his ledger, playing the Good Samaritan might alleviate that just a bit.

Bucky shook his head and wrapped his arms round himself again in a pale imitation of a hug that he was desperately craving but wouldn’t be getting until he saw Becca in the morning.

Keeping one arm round his front, he brushed one hand through his wet hair, sighing with relief as he hurried towards the metal and brick monstrosity that was the safety of his apartment block.

The rain pelted down on his back as he bent down to pull his key out of his boot and let himself in the fortified front door.

The foyer was still cold, but it was blessedly dry and the constant shower Bucky had been forced to have for a good four hours was suddenly cut short. The last thing he wanted to do now was climb three flights of stairs, but the elevator had been ‘temporarily out of order’ for half a year at least so he grimaced and took the steps two at a time, relishing the way the burn in his muscles warmed his legs as he climbed.

He was momentarily glad Becca wasn’t in to hear the dirty-sounding moan of pleasure he made as he stepped into the apartment and was hit by a wave of heat. Normally he would be seriously annoyed that he forgot to turn the heating off before he went out, but right now all he could think was that he felt like he was physically melting, like a real life snowman.

As soon as he had toed his sodden boots off and dumped his phone, knife and keys on the side table by the door, Bucky carried out his customary sweep of the apartment.

It didn’t take long, what with there only being three rooms and a small linen closet, but it made him feel like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He was home.

No more rain, no more creeps putting their hands all over him and most importantly no more death-defying, godlike body-possessing strangers who looked at him like… like an actual human being. Bucky knew better than to believe it, but it was still nice to be looked at and seen, or at least looked at and not leered at. Small victories.

Now that he was feeling relatively normal, barring the fuzzy-Steve feelings (but Bucky was trying very hard to ignore those) he was acutely aware of the fact that he needed a shower. A proper, hot shower, with no rain water involved at all and a LOT of strawberry shampoo. He had bought it under the pretense of giving it to Becca, but she had no interest at all in smelling like ‘a tart’ (she had meant the dessert, but Bucky supposed either meaning was accurate), so Bucky had happily kept it for himself.

Bucky turned on the shower to the hottest setting, allowing the room to fill with steam as he stripped out of his damp clothes and dropped them in the hamper.

The mirror was starting to cloud round the edges with the heat, but he still caught a glimpse of himself before he stepped into the tub. He normally tried to avoid mirrors at all costs. He couldn’t quite put a finger on why, but it made him uncomfortable, just standing there staring at his own reflection.

On this occasion, he could see faint bruises blooming round his neck and collarbones and on his wrists courtesy of client #1. It wasn’t anything serious, they’d be gone by the next time he had to ‘go out’, in a couple of days time. Until then he could only hope that the weather remained as crappy as it had been today so he wouldn’t look like a weirdo walking around in a jumper and scarf in the middle of summer.

Not to mention the fact that Becca would freak out if she caught sight of them, like she always did.

She didn’t know what he did for money when he wasn’t in the café, so it was always a little bit of a shock to her when he returned home with a black eye or bite marks. He told her he got them in fights; better to think he was a thug than know what he actually did to make sure they weren’t thrown out on the streets.

Pride was something Bucky had lost a long time ago, around the time he had met Brock and starting selling himself off to strange men if he was honest, but imagining the disappointment on Becca’s face if she ever found out what he did made him feel ridiculously ashamed; usually to the point where he’d have to take something to calm the resulting panic attack he would work himself into.

No, that could never happen. And anyway, Becca was only 12, much too young to worry about any of that stuff, at least if Bucky got his way, which he usually didn’t but on this point he was pretty motivated.

The water from the shower felt almost scalding on his frigid skin as he stepped underneath it, letting the stream beat down on his aching shoulders. He could feel his muscles start to loosen immediately and he stifled another groan as he dropped his head and let the water run through his hair, washing away all the dirt and grime. He ran his hands over his body, wincing as he fingers brushed over his bruises and the chaffed skin round his neck.

Bucky reached for his flannel, doused it in strawberry shampoo and methodically began rubbing it harshly over his body, scouring the dried semen and lube from his thighs until his skin was red raw and stinging.

He was never fully present within himself when he did this and he lost track of time as he moved automatically, cleaning himself as thoroughly as he could, until there was no trace of the night left on him, except for the bruises and bone-deep exhaustion.

He only stopped when the shower began stuttering and the water lost any traces of heat whatsoever.

Bucky sighed as he turned the water off and shook his hair out to stop it from dripping all over the floor. Last thing he needed tonight was to slip and knock himself out for a few hours, although at least that would guarantee him some sleep.

Wrapping the fluffiest towel he could find round himself, he made his way steadily out the bathroom and into the kitchen/dining/living/Bucky’s bedroom area.

It was a fairly small space, but big enough for two people, with cracked brick walls and uneven wooden floorboards.

The building was an old warehouse or something, Bucky hadn’t really been listening when he had signed the lease, more interested in finally getting his 15 year old self and 4 year old sister into a place with a roof that didn’t leak and parents that weren’t…well. They weren’t there, so that was a definite plus.

If they had had money, any money at all, they could probably make it into something that a hipster would have wet dreams over. But they didn’t, so instead the floorboards creaked, the walls crumbled and the huge original windows were caked in dust and cobwebs and let enough of the cold outside air in that if the heating was turned off (which it usually was) then the glass might as well not be there.

But it was home, as long as Bucky could keep up with the rent payments.

Becca had made it her mission in the last couple of years to turn it into a place that was theirs. At the end of every week she came back from school with countless pieces of paper, printed all over with images of famous paintings that she would stick on the walls and hang fairy lights around. She would spend hours creating borders from old cardboard boxes, daubing them in different colours and surrounding the collage of paper until it looked as though they had actual professional paintings on their walls.

It definitely wasn’t going to convince anyone, but Bucky liked them anyway. The clashing colours and twinkling fairy lights made the space feel warm and comfortable and the fact that Becca was proud enough of their home to bring her friends back, sometimes, filled Bucky with a sense of satisfaction. It was certainly not something that he had been able to do when he was Becca’s age, so he was glad that she felt safe enough to do that.

She also felt secure enough, apparently, to have a dedicated corner of the room to her ‘crush of the week’, which was a fairly new addition to the flat and one Bucky wasn’t quite sure about.

This week (in fact, the last three weeks) the corner featured some guy with green hair and eyeliner. Becca had surrounded his image with little hearts cut out of paper and coloured in pink. His name was Michael something and he was definitely from a band. Maybe. Bucky had found it pretty difficult to listen to his baby sister wax lyrical about some boy’s “cute butt” and had promptly tuned out of the conversation.

He did like the eyeliner though, it was a look he favoured on occasion himself; for work, obviously.

Walking barefoot into the kitchen area, Bucky poured himself some orange juice and grabbed a Pop-Tart from the box on the counter. He downed both in what had to be something of a record, even for him, and made his way back into the main area of the flat to where his bed was tucked into a corner of the room.

He and Becca had found an old screen in an alley behind a theatre a few years ago on the walk back from school and they had dragged the half broken thing all the way up the hill and back to the flat, getting some very strange looks as they went.

It had a solid iron frame that had stood the test of time well, but the actual screens that were stretched between the rails were battered and one was missing entirely. He and Becca had spent their entire evening after finding it, weaving ripped fabric through the frame, until the whole thing stood as a kind of wall, 6 foot tall and at least 10 foot across, shielding most of Bucky’s bed from the rest of the room.

It wasn’t an actual bedroom, but at least there was some privacy so he could get changed without the fear of Becca suddenly barging into the flat with her friends and the sight of his completely naked body scarring a bunch of pre-pubescent girls for life.

If he had been the type of guy to have relationships, ever, the lack of a bedroom might still have posed some problems. A screen might hide a person getting changed, but it didn’t cover sounds and Bucky supposed that if he had ever had any form of partner in his life, that probably would have been a bit of a mood (and relationship)-killer.

At least his complete inability to have any sort of lasting bond with anyone was good for something, namely protecting Becca. He really didn’t want her to catch him in that sort of circumstance, it was bad enough when she used to walk in on him getting dressed, anything more would be mortifying.

Ducking round the screen, Bucky let the towel drop to the floor and crawled into his bed, relishing in the soft woolen blankets and throws that he had collected over the years. It wasn’t really so much a bed as a nest, what with it being so low to the ground and not having any frame to speak of. But he liked it.

The wool immediately warmed to his skin and he pulled one of the silk pillows that Becca had made in art class under his head and closed his eyes.

He was home, he had made enough money tonight to keep Brock's boss satisfied and make up the rest of what he needed for the rent. With a few extra shifts at the café in the next few days, they would be alright this week; Becca would be alright.

It wasn’t often that Bucky felt calm, but this was probably as close as he had been in a long time.

There was still the underlying fear that never left him; the constant, nagging voice in his head pointing out his many flaws and what could go wrong, but right at that second, in his flat, he felt pretty composed.

As he drifted off, mind blessedly calm for once, Bucky’s thoughts wandered towards the strange man with the blond hair and kind eyes.

He smiled to himself, tucking his head into the crook of his arm and wrapping his other arm around his body. It almost felt like a hug.

Almost.

And he could pretend, just for a few minutes, that it was Steve holding him with those huge arms and warm skin. He could pretend that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone there to care for him, to protect him.

In the back of his mind, that voice that was always there was berating him, mocking him. But as he drifted the voice quieted and the feeling of safety remained.

It couldn’t hurt to pretend, could it? Just for a little while…


	2. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was too much sometimes; the expectations, people watching him constantly, forgetting that underneath the costume, the body, the legend of ‘Captain America’ that there was just a man. But nobody saw him. Not really...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rage clouding my view,  
> I still picture you, yeah.

He didn’t really sleep that well any more. Not since the ice. Not since he felt that burning chill seep into his bones and seize his muscles until he couldn’t move any more, couldn’t think, couldn’t _breathe_.

He had slept for 70 years and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep any more, but he was scared. He could admit that. He was terrified. Terrified that he would go to sleep and wake up and another 70 years would have passed and all his friends, all the people he had come to love and respect, would be dead and gone and he would be alone again.

He didn’t ever want to feel the loneliness that he felt when he woke up in that SHIELD facility, in a world where the war was long finished, the millions of people who had given their lives lying forgotten in their graves. There were times, even now, nearly 5 years after he was bought back from the dead, that he felt like screaming. It was too much sometimes; the expectations, people watching him constantly, forgetting that underneath the costume, the body, the legend of ‘Captain America’, that there was just a man. But nobody saw him. Not really.

If he looked at it rationally, without fear clouding his judgment, things had improved a lot in the last few years.

He had friends now. Nat, Clint and Sharon at SHIELD, watching his back, the way no one had when he was young. He could really have done with them back then, it was a miracle he made it to adulthood at all. Then Tony, of course. Sarcastic, irreverent Tony Stark who almost never saw eye-to-eye with him but always rallied when he needed to. Bruce and Pepper who gave better advice than half the SHIELD psychologists he had been forced to see before going back into the field after various incidents where he had apparently showed little-to-no regard for his own safety. An actual god in Thor; the part of him that had been raised Catholic was still trying to wrap his head around that one. And, of course, Sam Wilson who he had met on a run just over a year ago and hadn’t stopped annoying since. He didn’t have any siblings, but if he had, Steve imagined that he would feel about them much the same way he felt about Sam.

These were the people who kept him sane. That’s what it felt like anyway. Even when he was lying wide awake at 3am. He knew he wasn’t really alone, he didn’t have a home anymore, not really, but he had the best people on his side and that counted for something.

The rain wasn’t helping his insomnia. Usually Steve found the pattering of water against the windows relaxing, but tonight the downfall was battering the panes of glass with what felt almost like violent intent.

He should have just travelled back to Avengers Tower, then he wouldn’t have had to worry about the windows potentially caving in from the sheer force of the gale outside.

He had finally managed to find a place to rent in Brooklyn, not too far from his old neighborhood, that he could actually afford. He got the place 6 months ago but the flat was still practically empty; just a bed and chest of drawers in the bedroom, with a bedside lamp on the floor where he should have a bedside table. Steve could pretend that the reason he hadn’t furnished the place was because he had been busy fighting the good fight, destroying the masters of evil – that sort of thing.

But he wasn’t one to lie to himself, never had been; there were enough people to do that for him. In truth, he just didn’t want to be here. He didn’t fit. Not physically, the place was fine size-wise. But he felt like he was being suffocated here. He was trying desperately to squeeze Captain America: hero, patriot, soldier into little Steve Rogers’ life and needless to say, it wasn’t working.

He never regretted the serum (how could he when it literally gave him a chance at life?) but sometimes it felt like it stopped him _living_. It seemed like wherever he went, whatever he did, he would never just be Steve Rogers to anyone, ever again. They only saw ‘Cap’, even his friends. So, ever the optimist, maybe he was holding on to a bit of hope that one day things might be different. One day there might be someone who sees past the shield and the history, someone who knows what it’s like to be made into something you don’t want to be. Someone who, to use a modern phrase he’d heard Tony use, ‘gets it’. Maybe then Steve would feel like he could make a home for himself, for them, free from the shackles of the stars and stripes and service.

It was thoughts like this that kept him awake at night, Steve supposed. It was cold for June and no matter how many hooded sweatshirts he wore or how warm his body ran, he still shivered as he pulled the blankets up around his shoulders and hunkered down into the cozy wool. He could feel the pull of sleep, dragging him in, festering in the corners of his mind as some part of himself desperately tried to fight the clawing urge to sink under. Sometimes maybe it was better not to fight. That thought made him realize how truly tired he must be, it was never something he would allow himself to think otherwise, and he began to let the lull of sleep wash over him.

Of course, it was then that he heard the noise.

Steve’s eyes snapped open, all traces of tiredness suddenly swept aside by the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body. If he had been asleep, or not had super-soldier hearing, there was a very real chance that he might not have heard the small sound of static buzzing from somewhere outside his bedroom window, especially with the rain hammering down with such ferocity. It sounded like radio static and it stopped as suddenly as it had started, but there was no doubt that he had heard it.

Steve reached down to the side of his bed where his shield was propped up against the wall. Sam had always insisted that he was being paranoid, keeping the shield within arms reach when he was supposed to be sleeping, but life had drilled a heightened sense of vigilance into him that he could never force himself to feel embarrassed about, especially at times like this.

It was pretty fortunate that the shield was as close to his bed as it was, because as soon as he grasped his hand around the leather strap on its back, the window crashed inwards, and it definitely wasn’t because of the rain. Two men, dressed in dark camo gear, with black goggles covering their eyes came through what had, just moments earlier, been his bedroom window, guns raised and shouting unintelligibly either at himself or into the radios attached to their chests. He managed to raise the shield just in time to block the spray of bullets that flew towards him as he threw himself out of bed away from the men and onto the floor.

Grabbing his handgun from its place under his bed, he flicked off the safety and raised it just as one of the men came round the foot of the bed and aimed his own gun down at him. The man’s head jerked backwards as Steve’s shot hit him in the forehead and he crumpled to the ground instantly. The other man was shouting hurriedly into his radio, and the crackled response seemed to indicate that there were more people coming to join their little impromptu party. 

From where he was lying, on his back on the floor, half underneath his own bed, Steve could see the man’s feet shuffling quietly on the wooden boards, near his fallen partner. Then the boots disappeared as he stepped up onto the bed. From the angle he was lying at, there was no way he could protect himself from shots and shoot back.

Letting the shield rest on the floor, Steve rolled himself further underneath the bed and right out the other side. He allowed himself a deep, calming breath before sitting bolt upright and shooting the man standing on his duvet. The man didn’t even have time to fully turn his head before the bullet was hitting him in the right side of his neck, and he collapsed heavily down onto the mattress, blood pouring out onto the white sheets.

From where he was sitting on the floor, Steve could see an insignia emblazoned on his sleeve; the skull and tentacles of Hydra. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through his body at that moment. For a brief second he was back in the ‘40s, watching his men die at Hydra’s hands, courtesy of Johann Schmidt. He had promised to eradicate them, promised that no more people would suffer because of the insanity Hydra preached. And yet… there were apparently Hydra agents in his house, dead in his bedroom.

Steve jumped to his feet, and went to grab his shield from the other side of the room. No matter who these people were, Hydra or not, they wanted blood and he wasn’t particularly willing to give it to them. No sooner had he jumped to his feet, wincing slightly as his shoulder throbbed from where he had hit the floor, than the door to his bedroom burst off its hinges, sending slivers of wood bouncing around the room, ricocheting off the walls and lamp. He felt sharp scratches against his skin as pieces of it sliced open his hands and face, anywhere that wasn’t covered by his hooded sweatshirt or sweatpants.

From where he was standing, there were only two choices available to him. He had four bullets left in his gun but as the agents swarmed into the room it was clear that wouldn’t be enough. He could either take them all on, unarmed once he emptied the gun and without his shield or he could proceed with option two and jump out the window.

He went with two.

Steve threw himself backwards out of the hole in the wall where the two, now deceased, agents had smashed into his apartment and landed on the rain drenched, iron fire escape outside. The thick woolen socks on his feet were immediately saturated with damp and the rain momentarily blinded him as he leapt behind the brick wall to escape the hail of bullets that flew at him from within the building.

He gasped as the rain water seeped into the cuts from the broken window glass on the soles of his feet and the scratches on his hands and face. He reached his arm round and fired blindly into the room behind him. There were a couple of low grunts as his bullets found their marks, but it wouldn’t be enough. In the darkness, Steve could just make out a ladder to his left, leading down four floors to the street. He stumbled towards it, grasping for the iron railing that ran around the edge of the platform.

He needed to lead the agents away from such a built up area, as thick as the walls were in these old buildings, he couldn’t risk a bullet getting through one of them and hitting a civilian. It had just occurred to Steve that the park nearby should be almost deserted at this hour and he should head there, when a massive blast from behind him sent him hurtling over the edge of the fire escape and headfirst towards the cement. He had made larger jumps before; most notably jumping out of a plane during the war and sans-parachute during that whole Thor/Loki debacle, but those had, thankfully, been feet first.

Steve had maybe two seconds to curl his body and bring his right arm up to cover his face before his body was slamming into the ground with enough force to knock him out cold.

 

*************************************

 

A few thoughts made themselves known to Steve as he lay on the street beneath his now blackened, burnt apartment. Firstly, that the ground was very wet and very cold. Considering the weather, that made sense, even to his slightly addled brain. Secondly, there were a lot of people screaming. From his position on his back, with the rain blurring his vision, he couldn’t see them, but the sound of terror filled the air around him, thickening his blood with adrenaline. And thirdly, if he didn’t move soon, he would be dead. There was no doubt that the agents, however stupidly, had blown up his apartment on purpose, Steve didn’t even want to think about how many people had potentially died in the explosion, but the guilt was already clawing its way around his head.

Sitting up proved to be a challenge, and standing up was nearly impossible, what with the way the ground seemed to tilt as he moved vertically. He distantly registered a sharp pain in his side and for a second he thought he had been shot, until he reached his hand down and realized he had broken at least a few ribs. That would be the least of his problems if the agents caught up with him.

Keeping close to the side of the buildings, Steve stumbled through the side streets until he reached the park near his apartment. It was just as deserted as he thought it would be, but he kept moving, this would probably be the first place they would follow him to. He managed to stay on his feet for another five, maybe ten, minutes before staggering into an alley in what, he distantly registered, was definitely the rough part of town and collapsing right in a puddle of what was hopefully just rain water but he suspected was mixed with other, less-hygienic substances.

In his periphery he could make out an individual at the other end of the alley. They might have been speaking to him but Steve’s ears were still ringing from the explosion so there was no way he could hear them. He could feel his consciousness slipping again, even as it occurred to him that the other person in the alley with him could be a threat; even if they weren’t an agent, on this side of town they could just as easily be a thug or a pickpocket. He was finding it very hard to care though as the darkness crept up in the corner of his vision and the sleep that had been eluding him for days finally took him.

 

*************************************

 

There was someone on his left. He was aware of them without even needing to open his eyes, something about the way the air to that side of his body felt slightly warmer, more comforting, despite the rain that was still hammering down on his now sodden clothes. It was a man, Steve thought.

He could hear him now, voice low, muttering either to himself or into a phone. Steve wanted to warn him, tell him to leave before the agents found them and he reached a hand out to get the man’s attention.

The stranger flinched away from him, reactively, like a skittish kitten or a dog that had been kicked one too many times. Steve’s hand fell to the ground and he made no effort to lift it again trying, probably in vain, to make the other man feel at ease.

A sudden stabbing pain in his right side made him gasp and clutch his ribs with his right hand and the man hesitantly covered Steve’s left hand with his own, which was shaking and cool but strangely reassuring despite the fact he was a complete stranger. Steve linked their fingers together and squeezed the hand slightly as another shooting pain ripped through his side.

The man was still speaking and Steve didn’t even realize he had told him his name until a good 30 seconds after he had done so. At least he didn’t give him his full name. The man didn’t seem to recognize him, which was a rarity in itself, and despite the pain, the cold, the impending sense of danger, Steve actually found himself laughing at the man as he spoke to him. He was funny and awkward and weirdly charming and it occurred to Steve that, as far as nights where he has nearly died go, this one was turning out to be one of the better ones.

By this point the man - Bucky, had he said his name was? - had sat down next to him on the dirty, damp ground, like it was nothing, and was still chattering on about something, taking his mind off the constant discomfort his body was in.

Of course, when he started asking about what had happened, Steve had had to fib a bit. He was never really one for lying anyway, except when it was for some greater good or to get enlisted, but something about lying to this man, this… 'Bucky', made his insides twist up in a way that felt momentarily worse than the broken ribs and apparently pretty bad head wound.

Steve had managed to completely follow the flow of conversation for the past few minutes, which was a miracle in itself considering how his head was banging, but he was still having trouble opening his eyes more than a crack. The alley was dark but the occasional neon sign and streetlight that invaded his vision made him feel like he was going to throw up and pass out again. He really didn’t want to faint in front of Bucky… or throw up, come to think of it. So he kept his eyes firmly squeezed shut to fight the nausea that threatened to overcome him.

He really wanted to see Bucky though. Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on why exactly. It wasn’t just that it felt rude not to look someone in the eye when they were talking to you, but he also wanted to feel that connection with this strange man that had stopped and helped him for no reason other than that he couldn’t just walk by and leave someone when they were hurt.

A sudden screeching noise filled the air and the red lights that he could see even through his closed eyelids meant that it was almost certainly the ambulance. Steve felt Bucky’s whole body stiffen next to him as two sets of footsteps approached them. Steve squeezed his hand, hopefully reassuringly, again and he heard, as well as felt, Bucky try to take a deep breath to calm himself down. He risked opening one eye slightly so that he could look at the men as they leant over them both, just to ensure that they were not a threat. They didn’t appear to have any weapons on them and their middle age and slightly portly demeanor pointed to the likelihood of them not being Hydra assassins, so Steve shut his eye again as one of the men crouched down and started to speak to him.

“Sir, are you…?” The man stopped suddenly as though embarrassed and let out a hesitant cough before continuing “Captain Rogers, sir?” Of course.

“Err, yes. Steve, my name’s Steve. You heard about the explosion by the park?”

“We did, sir, we’re all on high alert, BOLO’s out on you, everyone will be glad to know you’re alright, sir. Can I…?” The man trailed off again and Steve cracked his eye open again to see the man gesture to Steve’s head. He nodded and the man reached forward to shine a small torch into his eyes quickly. “Looks like you probably have a bit of concussion so you’ll have to come with us to the hospital, I’m afraid Cap, although you’ll no doubt have healed before we get there, right?!” The man chuckled to himself for a second and Steve forced out a small, polite smile.

He felt a movement to his left as Bucky shifted position. Opening his eyes fully, despite the pounding in his head, Steve looked over and finally got a good look at the man that had thrown away his night to sit in a puddle with him.

He was definitely slightly younger than Steve and soaking wet, in possibly the tightest trousers Steve had ever seen on a person, even in this century where tighter seemed to mean more stylish. His dark hair was tied into a small knot, although tendrils of it fell down, sticking to his face and neck in damp waves, framing high, sharp cheekbones that were reflecting the lights that bounced around the enclosed alleyway. He was biting his full lip absently, as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it and his eyes were wide and concerned, but tinged with something that looked worryingly like fear.

Steve wanted to sketch him. It was a strange thought, not least because he hadn’t drawn anything since long before he went into the ice, but also because the last person he had wanted to capture in such a way had been Peggy, with her wicked grin and poised demeanour.

Steve couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face as he looked at Bucky, but he tried to school it in a slightly contrite manner.

“Sorry about this. You can, you know, go if… I’m sure you have better things t’do…” Steve wasn’t quite sure exactly what was wrong with him to make him stammer so much, but at least he had managed to get a vaguely coherent sentence out. He was proud of himself. All he could really register then was that Bucky was offering to come with him to the hospital and all Steve wanted to do was shout “Yes, please!” but instead his idiotic mouth was telling Bucky not to worry about it, that it was fine. Maybe he wasn’t so proud of himself after all.

There had to be some way to claw this back, he just wanted to speak to Bucky more for some reason. The other man had sort of hunched in on himself after Steve had opened his big mouth, as if defending himself from some unseen attack. He was still biting his lip, he looked scared of something; of what, though?

“Unless, I mean, it’s freezing out and you are kind of soaked through. Maybe you should get checked out too? Just in case.” The look on Bucky’s face was suddenly schooled into a grin that made Steve’s heart pound just as hard as his head. It was almost worrying, the kind of effect this man was having on him, or maybe it was just the concussion making him feel strange. That was probably it.

“Nah. S’fine, got no insurance anyway” Bucky rose to his feet, their hands still joined between them.

He was shaking quite a lot and it struck Steve that Bucky had been sitting with him for a while now and maybe he just wanted to get home, out of the cold. Steve felt very selfish in that moment for trying to drag this poor man to the hospital with him just so he could keep him around a bit longer when he had his own life to get back to. Steve forced as cheery a smile as possible to his face.

“Give a guy a hand then?” He asked, tugging slightly at Bucky’s outstretched hand in his.

“Jeeze, at least buy a guy a drink first, Stevie”

Steve felt himself blush furiously, first at the newly acquired nickname (no one had called him Stevie since his mom had died) and secondly because the accidental innuendo was somewhat mortifying. He was glad Tony wasn’t around to hear it or else he would never have heard the end of it.

“I mean, I didn’t mean…” Steve took a deep breath, regretting it as soon as his ribs crackled beneath his skin “I mean, do you mind helping me up?”

Bucky grinned again, this time, somehow more naturally, his eyes shining in the dark. Between him and one of the paramedics, they managed to lift him to his feet slowly. Even hunched slightly as he was over his ribs, Steve was still a couple of inches taller than Bucky and from this close proximity he could see just how tired the other man looked. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was almost too pale.

Steve was just about to open his mouth to thank him and insist that they meet up again in less awful circumstances when the smile was suddenly wiped from Bucky’s face and was replaced with a neutrally blank expression, that spark in his eyes extinguished. Bucky stepped away from him, wrenching his hand from Steve’s loose grip and the other paramedic swooped in immediately to support under Steve’s arm. The paramedic said something to Bucky and he nodded curtly before turning and hurrying away from them.

“Bucky!” Steve couldn’t help calling out after him, even though something told him there was no chance Bucky would come back or even hesitate. He didn’t.

As the paramedics ushered him into the back of the ambulance and sat him on a gurney, Steve tried to ignore the wrenching feeling that was happening in his chest. He was still struggling to identify the feeling, indeed it was one that he couldn’t recall ever experiencing before and it wasn’t one that he was sure he liked. When they started the speedy drive to the hospital, taking turns that made everything in the back of the ambulance shift around, he felt the inevitable fatigue set in, deep into his muscles.

Lying back on the hard bed, Steve let himself finally drift off to the sound of sirens and foggy thoughts of wide, anxious eyes and full, bitten lips.

 

*************************************

 

A couple of hours, and countless x-rays that Steve had assured the doctors were completely unnecessary (he had point-blank refused the blood tests), later Steve found himself discharged from hospital and driven to the SHIELD facility outside New York by a rather stony-faced Sam Wilson. He hadn’t said much when he had come to the hospital to get him, other than a perfunctory “how you doin’, Cap?” and Steve knew better than to ask what was eating at him, Sam would tell him when he was ready. Until then he was perfectly content to sit in the passenger seat and stare out the window as they drove further and further away from the city.

It was daytime now, but the heavy clouds were still present and although the rain had eased slightly, there was still a light drizzle coating the car and ensuring the wipers had to squeak their way across the windscreen every few seconds. It was the only noise in the car other than the sound of the wheels on the run-down roads beneath them and occasional huff of breath belonging to Sam as he clearly tried to build up to whatever it was that he wanted to say.

A half hour later, 29 minutes of which Steve had spent replaying the night before over and over again, Sam eventually cracked.

“So, you didn’t go back to that tower of Stark’s because…?” He let the sentence hang there for Steve to answer. Steve wasn’t particularly sure he had an answer that Sam would either want to hear or be satisfied with so instead he opted for part of the story.

“I sleep better in my own apartment, Sam. The tower is fine, it’s great, it’s just too much sometimes, y’know? I need the space occasionally”

“Riiiight, you know, that’s funny, because I’ve always thought that the one thing that Stark’s monstrosity of a tower lacks is space. C’mon, Cap.” Steve wasn’t looking at Sam but the sarcasm that was practically dripping from his voice indicated pretty strongly to Steve that he should tread carefully with this one. Sam was pissed.

“Space, yes. But I feel like I’m constantly under surveillance there, with that artificial intelligence thingumajig that Stark’s set up. I’m from a simpler time, Sam, I just need to be by myself sometimes, that’s all”

“You know, I’m sure that ‘simpler time’ shit works just great with the ladies, Cap, but seriously?”

“I am being serious. I just like the quiet sometimes” Steve turned his head and looked at Sam for a second “I’m sorry if all of you were worried about me or whatever it is, but I’m a grown man, I’m fine”

Sam sighed to himself but nodded and let a small smile crack over his face

“Well, I’m glad you’re fine, man. Who the hell’d I go running with if you checked out, huh?” Steve laughed and gently punched Sam’s right shoulder. “Fury’s gonna be there to brief you, y’know?”

It was Steve’s turn to sigh. Logically he had known that, but in some sort of, what must be, denial he had managed to complete forget the fact he would be speaking with Nick Fury today. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the man, it was just… well, he didn’t like the man. They had completely different views on the world; where Steve saw opportunities for equality and freedom, Fury saw chances for restriction and enforcement. And yet they both fought for the same ‘side’, if there even were sides anymore. Of course if Hydra were back (if they had ever actually left) then Steve would absolutely have a side; whichever side Hydra weren’t, with or without Fury’s permission.

The rest of the journey passed unremarkably. Sam hummed along tunelessly to the radio as Steve half dozed/half daydreamed. The longer the journey took, the more eager he was to get this briefing done and finished so he could get back to Brooklyn. He had asked Sam about the civilians in the area when his apartment was blown-up, but Sam hadn’t been able to give him an answer. Whether that meant he honestly didn’t know or he just didn’t want to tell Steve, Steve wasn’t sure. He was hoping it was the first one, that way there was still a chance that any and all injuries had been non-critical. The guilt was already churning away in his head, the sooner he could find out the better, either way.

If Steve was completely honest with himself, there was another reason he wanted to get back to Brooklyn. Bucky.

Sometime in the last few hours, somewhere between x-ray number two and now, Steve had decided pretty conclusively that Bucky was important. He wasn’t sure how, he couldn’t exactly explain to himself why, but he was. And Steve had to find him. Fortunately, with an entire intelligence agency on hand (not to mention Stark), he was feeling confident about his chances.

The chances of Bucky being willing to speak to him, however, were potentially not as good, considering the way he had left Steve earlier. The look of fear, or whatever it was, on Bucky’s face still perplexed him. Anyone else would probably just leave it alone and take the hint, as it were. But Steve had never really been the ‘giving up’ type and there was just something about Bucky. Besides, it was only polite to go and thank him, he did save his life after all. Or he would have done, if Steve had been a normal person with a normal body.

It took another 30 minutes or so to make it to the hidden SHIELD base. Sam parked the car and they walked the short walk from the sheltered garage to the main building. The few people that were wandering around outside, smoking or chatting despite the weather, made furtive glances in his and Sam’s direction as they passed. Clearly the news of the attack had spread.

Nick Fury was waiting for them in his office. And in typical Nick Fury fashion, he seemed to anticipate their arrival, standing at the window with his back to them, hands clasped in the small of his back.

“Rogers, Wilson. Sit”

He spoke without turning to them.

Ordinarily Steve would stay standing just to defy Fury, but he was still pretty sore and tired from the night’s events, so he sat down heavily in the nearest chair. Sam took the other one, somewhat less hurriedly; he liked being there about as much Steve did by the looks of him.

“12 casualties; 8 civilian, 4 hostiles. The hostiles are deceased but the civilian casualties are all non-critical. A few broken bones from walls exploding all over them, shock, the usual stuff you would expect when a bomb goes off in an apartment building. Romanov and Barton are chasing leads, but other than what looks a hell of a lot like Hydra insignias, we got nothing so far.” Fury spoke with the usual laissez-faire attitude Steve had come to expect from him, but there was an edge of steel to his voice. He turned around and Steve felt himself sink down into his seat as the weight of Fury’s gaze settled on him. “What the fuck happened?”

Steve took a breath and began to recount everything that happened the night before. He kept it short, brief and with no mention of Bucky. Regardless of whether Bucky wanted anything to do with him or not, he owed it to him to protect him from the prying eyes of SHIELD that would undoubtedly be looking into him if Steve gave them his name. It occurred to Steve then that perhaps he should use alternative methods to search for Bucky; having his name known to various SHIELD agents didn’t sound like a particularly sound idea. His mind was beginning to drift and Fury’s all-seeing eye was narrowing suspiciously.

“What aren’t you telling me, Captain?” Steve met Fury’s gaze evenly.

“You know all that I know, sir. I suspect Hydra are behind the attack, I would like permission to follow any leads we can-“

“No” Fury cut him off curtly, “Romanov and Barton are investigating this. They tried to kill you, Cap, you’re too close to this. Go to Stark’s tower, lay low, take a vacation if you can remember what one of those is. God knows I don’t…” Fury sat at his desk, clearly done with the conversation.

“With respect, sir, if this is Hydra then no one here knows them better than I do” Fury was still looking at him, one eyebrow raised, unimpressed. “Even if I’m not involved in a… physical manner, at least keep me in the loop. It’s not enough for you to know everything I know, I need to know everything you know too. That’s the way this works.”

“Oh, is it Captain Rogers? Please, do enlighten me as to the working of this intelligence organization that I have been running since long before we dragged your sorry ass out of that ice you were so comfortable in” The sarcasm was practically dripping from Fury’s words, but Steve held his glare.

“And I’ve been chasing Hydra since before your father was still in short trousers, son,” Steve rose to his feet as he spoke, well aware that he had adopted his ‘Captain America’ voice “so don’t you think for a second that I won’t do everything in my power to stay involved in this. You will keep me updated, regularly, and in return I will lay low for as long as you need me to.”

They stared at each other for what felt like, to Steve, hours until Fury finally spoke.

“You have yourself a deal, Captain,” He picked up a pen and pointed it at Steve “Now get the hell out of my office. You too, Wilson”

Sam practically jumped to his feet as he hurried to leave the room, his eagerness to get out of there was almost palpable. Steve nodded once at Fury and left too; slightly slower and with a bit more care not to jar his still sore ribs.

The two of them walked slowly together through the corridors of SHIELD HQ. It was typically un-crowded, the only sign of other people coming from the sound of grunts from the training area and shots on the inside range as they passed by. As they reached the main entrance to the building, Steve held his hand out

“Keys, please”

“Cap-“

“Sam, you just drove me all the way out here for a 10 minute briefing in which you didn’t say a single word. You and I both know that you want to find Agent Hill and get her to ‘teach’ you Krav Maga, or whatever sorry excuse you’re going to use just so that you can find a reason to speak with her. I can drive myself back” Sam’s mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish before he pulled his lips into a set line. He looked distinctly unimpressed.

“You’re an ass. Fine, here, keys. I suppose I should at least be grateful you’re not taking one of the bikes” Steve felt his own eyes light up. The motorbikes! Of course, how did he not thi- “NO! No bikes. Good God, you just got blown up, what is the matter with- You know what, I’m not even going into that right now. Take the car, take it slow and call me when you get to the tower”

Steve took the keys and patted Sam jovially on the arm,

“Thanks for everything today, Sam. I appreciate it”

“Hey, there’s nothing to thank me for. You’d have done the same thing for any of us. Now go back, stay low and _sleep_ for God’s sake, you look awful” Steve smiled and waved his hand in a lazy salute before turning and walking out into the rain towards the car.

As he slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, alone for the first time since this whole mess had started, he let his head fall back against the headrest for just a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. Really though, there were just two thoughts standing prominently in his mind: Hydra and Bucky. The potential Hydra issue was being dealt with; at least, Natasha and Clint were working on it until he came up with a good enough excuse to get back in the field.

That just left Bucky. Turning the ignition, Steve started up the sedan and began the 2 hours or so drive back to the city. Back to Avengers Tower. Where Tony Stark lived. The genius, millionaire Tony Stark who had God knows how much money, brainpower and technology in his resources and could definitely locate a single man based off what was almost definitely a nickname and nothing else.

Steve smiled and turned the radio up; he loved a mission and he had a feeling that finding Bucky was going to be one of his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave all the comments and requests you want! x


	3. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He supposed that was one of the main differences between his sister and himself; Becca still had some fight left in her, she battled for what she wanted and didn’t let anyone walk all over her. Bucky gave up fighting a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many hands have held my heart out over fire,  
> Ain't no one but you.

It was 8.05am when Bucky knocked on Mrs. Parker’s front door. She was only in the flat two floors down, but he was running late.

Getting out of his bed that morning had been particularly rough, not least because his limbs felt like they were being weighed down with lead and there was an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Bucky was hoping he could use the power of his mind to make it not pneumonia and for it to be just a common cold instead. Hell, flu would be acceptable. Last thing he needed right now was an unforeseen medical bill.

Perhaps going out without a jacket the night before hadn’t been one of his better ideas

_**Not that you have many of those anyway…** _

Bucky shook the intrusive thoughts away and rapped his knuckles briskly on the door. It was flung open immediately to reveal Becca standing there with a murderous look on her face.

“You’re late”

The glare coming from his twelve year old sister made the threatening looks he got on the street sometimes look tame. Becca was a pedant when it came to time-keeping. That, mixed with her perfectionism and bossiness, meant that Bucky’s frequent tardiness was particularly abhorrent to her and no matter how many times it happened, she never let him get away with it.

“Like 5 minutes, Becca, c’mon give a guy a break, please? Was workin’ ‘till, like, 4 or somethin’”

His voice came out croaky enough that she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Are you sick? You’re sick. You should be in bed, Bucky. I told you, I can walk to school by myself”

“Not now, Becs. I’m fine, I’m always fine aren’t I? Come on, kid, before you’re really late”

Bucky shouted a thank you to Mrs. Parker, who was probably still in bed, if she had any sense, and Becca stepped out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind her.

They had just managed to get out of the building, pulling their hoods up to shield themselves from the drizzle, before Becca started loudly insisting that she was ‘not an infant’ and could be left at home alone overnight when he was at work. It was a conversation that they had had many times before, too many to count, really. Bucky didn’t know why she even bothered, he wasn’t going to change his mind and she knew that. But she was unrelenting anyway.

He supposed that was one of the main differences between his sister and himself; Becca still had some fight left in her, she battled for what she wanted and didn’t let anyone walk all over her. Bucky gave up fighting a long time ago.

Much as he was glad that his sister was self-assured and, if he was honest, sassy, this discussion was one that he really didn’t have patience for any more. Mainly because of the way it always ended: Becca pouting with crossed arms and stern features, firing that disappointed glare at him whilst he sighed and tried to bribe her with the promise of fast food or film night.

This time, however, the argument ended when Bucky broke into a coughing fit in the middle of the street. His lungs were starting to feel like they were being crushed and the pressure behind his eyes was making him feel off-balance.

_**Idiot. You did this to yourself, only have yourself to blame.** _

Bucky was distantly aware of his sister speaking to him as he half-coughed up a lung in front of a bunch of strangers. He tried to tune out that nagging voice in his head and focus on Becca’s voice.

“…can get there by myself. It’s only a 20 minute walk. You need to get to bed, Bucky” Becca was speaking hurriedly, obviously keen to get to school “You’re only gonna slow me down anyway and I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Tamara’s house is right there, I can go with her and-“

“Not happening, Becs.” Bucky somehow managed to rasp out.

He straightened himself and carried on walking towards Becca’s school, concentrating a lot harder than he usually would on just staying vertical. He could hear Becca muttering darkly next to him, but at least she had dropped the whole staying over at Mrs. Parker’s discussion.

Mrs. Parker really wasn’t the problem, even though she was a reclusive, slightly batty old woman with the worst taste in home furnishing Bucky had ever seen. But Becca was going to be a teenager soon and Bucky had a feeling they were on the steady descent into haughty teen-angst and boyfriend problems that he himself had never had the chance to experience, but he was sure Becca was going to really throw herself into with gusto.

He was glad, in a way. It meant that Becca was normal, that she was growing up in an ordinary way and not the way he had. That was all he had ever wanted for her; to have a calm, happy upbringing, as far as possible from the hell he had had to deal with as a child. No kid should have to go through that, not even him.

**_Not true. It’s not like you didn’t deserve it. It’s not like you didn’t ask for it. Should have fought a bit harder, a bit better. Should have made them stop-_ **

“Bucky! Are you even listening to me?”

Becca’s voice broke through the vortex of memories he was starting to get dragged into. He blinked at her cluelessly for a second and nodded hesitantly.

“Y-yeah, that sounds great”

He had no idea what Becca had been talking about but that seemed to be an acceptable answer to her because she smiled and linked her arm with his. Bucky smiled back, genuinely despite the ever-growing pressure in his head, and grabbed her bag from her other hand to carry it for her the rest of the way to school.

“You see, Tamara wouldn’t carry your bag for you, wouldn’t get this kind of first-class service walkin’ by yourself wouldja?”

Bucky’s smile turned into a smirk as Becca pushed her weight into his side for a second, trying to nudge him off-course and into another pedestrian. If she wasn’t a tiny weed of a thing, it might have worked in Bucky’s current state, but she weighed maybe 80 pounds and only came up to his shoulder so he barely even felt it. Becca huffed in annoyance but she was grinning so Bucky counted the morning as a win when he dropped her off at the school gates and handed her bag back to her.

After a hasty hug that Becca probably only offered him because he was sick, she ushered him away and rushed off to her huddle of friends who were hanging around the entrance waiting for her.

Bucky gave them all a small wave and their giggles clearly indicated to Becca that he was still there because she turned back towards him, face bright red, and jerked her head back the way they had came. He raised an eyebrow at her but he could take a hint, he had places to be anyway.

Bucky’s body was practically crying out for a proper meal and some sleep.

Now that Becca had gone, he could let himself acknowledge some of the pain he was in. Aside from the obvious headache and wheezing lungs, there was a deep ache settling into his muscles. Bucky wasn’t sure whether that was from his exploits the night before or whatever he was coming down with, but either way, it made walking a literal pain in the ass.

If he had had the money, Bucky would have caught a cab down to the club just to give his legs a break, but apart from the money he had for Brock in his pocket, he was nearly broke. The walk over to the club was a relatively short one, made to feel miles long by both the rain and the pounding in Bucky’s head.

 

*************************************

 

After the brief journey through the increasingly run-down, dilapidated streets where Bucky kept his head down, hood up and hands in his pockets, despite the time of day (because you could never be too careful), the club loomed into view.

‘Echidna’ was by far the most respectable looking business on the block. It was a rough area, no one could deny that, but whilst all the neighboring buildings were daubed in graffiti and were in possession of a fair few boarded-up windows, Echidna’s black walls and chrome, studded door were spotless, even as they stood out against the old brick shop-fronts surrounding it.

Brock’s security team was doubtlessly responsible; Bucky knew all too well how terrifying he could be. With the club being the kind of business that it was there had been a few occasions, particularly in the early days, when customers had kicked off over something or other and had had to be taken out the back and ‘dealt’ with. They never came back, or at least Bucky never saw them again.

It seemed word had spread; Echidna was a no-go for thieves, drunkards and gangs. Unless, of course, they were legitimate, paying clients, then all were welcome it seemed.

This early in the day, with steam still rising from the street and rain misting the air, Bucky could hear the distinct absence of the throbbing baseline that usually came from inside the club and since there was no one at the door to let him in, he used his key.

Sick as it was, Bucky had felt a strange sense of pride when he was given that key on his 10th anniversary of joining Echidna; a sign of trust from the person he owed his life to: Sasha.

Every single time they had met was burned into his memory like a brand.

The last time was when he had received the key, just a few months earlier. Bucky knew nothing about the man other than that his gaze was intense and examining, spotting lies and half-truths from miles away, and he had such an air of mystery surrounding him that people couldn’t help but be drawn to him, terrifying as he was.

He was frightening in an entirely different way to Brock. Where Brock was violent and brutal, Sasha was considering and icy. Bucky had witnessed them both do some terrible things, but if he had to be on the wrong side of one of them, he would pick Brock every time. At least you knew where you stood with him. Sasha was an entirely unknown variable, even though Bucky had technically known him for a decade, he didn’t know anything about the man other than that he was a person to be respected and feared in equal measure. And, of course, that he had chosen to save him, for some reason that Bucky couldn't fathom. He couldn’t even be entirely sure that ‘Sasha’ was his real name…

Bucky supposed the reason that he had felt proud when Sasha had given him the key was because it was a show of respect from the only person, other than his sister, whose approval he craved.

The door groaned slightly as he pushed it open, aching muscles protesting against the heavy metal. Inside the club was dark, as it always was, with just a few black lights and mood-lighting to ensure that people could vaguely see what, or who, they were doing.

The place was more or less deserted, though there were a couple of cleaners working in one of the many booths and one sweeping the floor in the centre of the room where the circular stage-area was. Bucky could hear the sound of bottles being stacked up behind the bar to his left and at the other end of the room, in the far wall, the clouded, glass doors that partially hid the private rooms were completely shrouded in darkness. They were clearly not in use, not that Bucky would expect them to be at this time. Of course, anything went here, so he wouldn’t have been completely surprised if they had been.

Everyone ignored him as he shoved his hands back in his pockets and walked past the restrooms and over to the far right corner of the room, to the private offices.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the narrow corridor that held the stairs that led up to the staff dressing rooms and security booth. Edging past the staircase, Bucky stepped past Sasha’s office (undoubtedly empty since he was almost never there) and knocked on Brock’s door. There was a quick shuffling noise from behind the door

“What?”

The tension in Brock’s voice was obvious even through a heavy door

“I got your money. Can I…?”

“Yeah, yeah. Come in”

Bucky let himself into the room and the reason for the tension was immediately understandable as he was greeted with the sight of Brock leaning against the side of his desk, with one of the girls Bucky had seen a few times round the club on her knees in front of him.

“Oh. Urm…”

Bucky didn’t bother to avert his eyes. He had seen, and done, a lot worse, but he still wasn’t particularly keen to stick around and see how this one played out. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the envelope of cash with the club’s cut in it. Bucky took a step forward, ignoring the girl on the ground, who was sucking Brock’s cock like her life depended on it.

_**Perhaps it does…** _

“Here. It’s all in there. I don’t need to go out for a few days now if that’s-“

“Off, off” Brock shoved at the woman’s face, almost pushing her to the ground and tucked himself back into his jeans, leaving the fly undone. He hasn’t looked at her once, his gaze locked on Bucky “get out, you’re done”.

The woman looked frightened for a moment and he let out an exasperated sigh

“Not DONE, done. Just… Fuck, just go upstairs, get ready to earn some money. You know, the shit you’re paid for. GO!”

Satisfied that she wasn’t getting fired, or worse, the woman picked herself up off the floor and skirted round Bucky, shutting the door quietly behind her.

The silence she left behind was deafening as Brock continued to eye Bucky up before opening the envelope and thumbing through the bills inside it.

“It’s all here?”

Bucky nodded and Brock stroked a hand over his own stubble before tossing the envelope down onto the desk behind him. He looked Bucky up and down before saying

“You look like shit”. Bucky felt himself flush at the words and bit his lip worriedly before nodding again

“Yeah, sorry. It was cold and… yeah”

_**Can’t even speak properly, what is wrong with you?** _

Bucky shook the thoughts from his head and the movement made Brock narrow his eyes suspiciously.

“You need to take a trip to the good doctor, James?”

Bucky’s gaze snapped right to Brock’s. The words seemed innocent, but they were anything but. There was something mocking about them, berating even. Bucky shook his head again, more deliberately this time.

“No? If you’re hearing those little voices in your head again James, you know we can’t have that. It’s a liability, you’re a liability”

_**He’s right, you are a liability. Waste of space, can’t-** _

“NO! No, sorry. I’m taking the pills he gave me, all of them. I promise”

He wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t dare.

Bucky had been on the medication for years, since he began working for Echidna; for Sasha and Brock. The Doctor had insisted he needed them, that they would help calm him down, and they did for a while. He could still remember how scared he had been when he was young and he had been introduced to clients, the way they would leer and let their eyes linger on him when haggling prices with Brock. The pills had helped a lot then. Lately, though, he wasn’t sure…

Brock pursed his lips slightly before drawing them up into a sly grin.

“Well then, if you’re feeling fine, you’d better get down here and finish what that stupid bitch couldn’t, hadn’t you?”

There was a small part of Bucky, a tiny, near-dead part of him, that wanted to pull his knife from his boot and use it until Brock couldn’t look at him like that anymore, couldn’t make him feel as worthless, as pathetic as he did at that moment. Until he couldn’t do anything any more.

But that part of him was just a whisper of a memory. The rest of him was screaming at him to submit, to do exactly what he was told without hesitation. It was safer, in a weird way, to not think and just do.

_**On your knees, whore.** _

He obeyed.

 

*************************************

 

Brock didn’t take long.

Bucky was glad about that, somewhere in the back of his head; the little space he had carved out for himself in his mind to crawl and curl up until his body was finished doing whatever it was required to do. He was still working on autopilot as Brock zipped his fly back up, one of his sweaty hands still grabbing a handful of Bucky’s hair tightly.

Distantly, Bucky was aware of his head being yanked back roughly and Brock leaning in. He felt Brock’s mouth meet his in a way that was more bite than kiss, designed to display his control in the most obvious way. He could do anything to him right then, and Bucky wouldn’t do a thing to stop him. They both knew it. Brock grinned down at him and wiped a thumb over the corner of Bucky’s mouth and then slapped his face with the same hand.

Bucky was jolted out of his daze and his eyes locked with Brock’s as his brain tried to catch him up on the last five minutes in just a couple of seconds.

“We’re gonna have to work on this aren’t we, James? Thought you would have grown out of all this weird shit by now. Can’t be goin’ all Walking Dead on clients now can we?”

Brock loosened his other hand from Bucky’s hair and grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet. Bucky was proud that he only stumbled a little bit, despite the fact that both his legs were numb and tingling from being curled underneath him on the hard floor. He vaguely registered that Brock had asked him a question and he shook his head uncertainly.

“Glad we agree. Still,” Brock turned and walked back round his desk, grabbing the envelope as he sat in his leather chair and propped his feet on top of the surface “you’re a good fuck, so I can’t imagine they’d mind that much. Haven’t had any complaints about you freakin’ out in a while though, Sasha’s pleased”.

Bucky fought to stamp down the feeling of satisfaction that bloomed momentarily in his chest. Sasha was pleased. Brock clearly noticed that his words made an impact because he started speaking again

“Yeah, he’s pleased. Tha’s why you got a key to the place. You keep it up maybe you won’t have to go out so much no more. Get to some managin’ or dancin’ or somethin’.” He emptied the envelope onto the desk and started sorting the notes. Bucky watched him carefully, considering. “Course, be a waste to get you off the streets completely, y’know. You make too much of the good stuff” He gestured to the money “but, work a bit harder, maybe start goin’ out a bit more and maybe I’ll put in a good word with the boss. ‘Specially if you’re as nice to me as you have been today…”

Of course.

Bucky knew exactly what ‘being nice to Brock’ entailed. He’d been doing it since he was fifteen. He forced a smile onto his face and nodded.

“Thank-you”

Brock didn’t look at him as he carried on sorting the notes.

“Mmhm. You’re off ‘till Thursday, I’m nice like that. Now get out before I change my mind. And if any of your regulars come in, you’d better drop whatever or whoever you’re doin’ and get here the second I call you. You understand?”

“Yeah, I understand”

Bucky almost whispered. His throat was a lot sorer than it had been before he came in here, and it hadn’t even felt that great then. He could probably blame this one on Brock.

**_It’s his right, there’s nothing to blame on him._ **

“Right. Outta my sight then”

Bucky took that as his dismissal, turning gratefully and letting himself out the room. He leant his weight on the wall outside the office for a few seconds just to get his head together and took a deep breath before walking back through the club and out into the rain, popping some gum into his mouth as he left.

 

*************************************

 

The café was quiet when Bucky arrived a few minutes after his shift was supposed to start.

The manager, Sarah, was cleaning down the counter when the small bell on the door rang as he stepped through it. She took a quick glance at the clock on the wall before raising her eyebrows at Bucky.

“And what time do you call this, Jamie?”

She wasn’t mad, Bucky could tell. She never was, not at him anyway and he smiled guiltily at her.

“Sorry. Just… stuff. I’ll stay late, promise”

Sarah shook her head as she laughed in the loud, booming way she always did when he accidently amused her. Her thick, afro hair, braided into a bun on top of her head, shook precariously with the movement.

“Can’t be mad at that face, honey. Get over here and have a coffee, you look like you need one. And for Jesus’ sake, hang that sweater of yours up to dry before you catch your death”

Bucky peeled the now damp hooded sweater off, leaving him in just a thin t-shirt and hung it over the back of one of the counter stools. Sarah folded him into a brief hug and he let himself sink into her plump, warm arms for a second before she let go and pushed him gently towards the coffee pot sitting on the surface.

Bucky poured himself a cup and sat at the counter as Sarah finished wiping down the surface, chattering about her morning so far and a customer who came in who was still obviously drunk from the night before and was still sleeping in the booth in the corner. Bucky glanced over at him. The man looked like his night had been about as rough as Bucky’s had been.

“We’ll just leave him for a bit, love. He’s no bother”

Sarah moved back behind the counter and went to put another pot of coffee on, patting Bucky’s face as she walked past him.

“You look terrible, Jamie”

“S’just a cold or flu or somethin’. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout, promise”

Sarah squinted her eyes at him for a second, looking at his face in an appraising way before seemingly taking his word for it.

“Mmhm, if you get worse, go home and get better! Don’t want you passin’ anything on to that sister of yours do we?”

Bucky smiled at her, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and nodded and Sarah beamed back at him before throwing an apron at him.

“Right. Well there’s just me and you on today, ‘cause Mary-Jane’s off, so you get waitin’ and I’ll do the cookin’. Don’t want to get everyone else sick, love”

Bucky stifled a groan as he got to his feet, his muscles still aching and sore from the night before. He fastened the tatty apron round his waist and went to collect some used cutlery from an empty table near one of the large windows.

“Please, Sarah, you just don’t want to do any more cleanin’”

Bucky shot over his shoulder, feeling the smile come a bit easier to his face as Sarah’s booming laugh carried around the café, making the man in the corner stir slightly in his sleep.

“With these nails, do you blame me?”

Sarah waved her brightly manicured talons around. After two years of working with her, Bucky still didn’t know how she got any work done with them, what with the length of them and how ridiculously covered in diamante crystals they were.

“Careful, you’ll have someone’s eye out with those, doll” Bucky laughed as he bought the cutlery and plates back to the counter.

“You’ve been chatting with my kids again, haven’t you? I’m telling you, love, I poked Tamal in the eye ONE TIME and I’ll never hear the end of it…”

Sarah broke off into a rant about her three children, all of whom were in the same school as Becca; the middle one, Monique, was in the same year as her and they had been friends for years, even before Bucky started working at the café. It was through her that Bucky had found the job in the first place.

He had been curious for a while, wondering what it would be like to have a proper job, one that didn’t involve sleeping with people for money. Every time he had managed to get himself a trial or a placement, something had ended up going wrong.

One time it had been a bunch of missing cash that had been blamed on him and another time a client had come in to the shop Bucky had started in and decided to tell his manager exactly how he had made his money in the past. Needless to say, he had been fired both times and there had been other occasions too; too many to count. He always ended up right back where he started, crawling back to Brock with apologies on his lips.

That had all happened near the beginning, when he was still a teenager and had a glimmer of hope left in him. After a while he had given up looking for some way out. Nevertheless, two years ago when Sarah had come over to the flat to pick up Monique and mentioned that she needed help at the café, he had volunteered before his brain could even register the question. He had started the next day and for some reason this one had stuck.

The paycheck wasn’t nearly enough to support Becca and himself, but it was nice having somewhere he could go during the day, other than the club. He had never considered leaving Sasha and Brock though. They had accepted him back, time and time again and taken him in when he didn’t have anybody else. He owed them.

His connection with them was completely different from his relationship with Sarah.

Sarah was almost a mother-figure to him, probably the only person other than Becca who would care if he just suddenly dropped dead. Oh, of course Brock would be pissed off that one of his best earners had gone, but that wasn’t really the same. It was nice to feel like there was occasionally someone looking out for them both, someone who would look out for Becca’s best interests if anything happened to him.

The rest of the day passed completely unremarkably, even down to the grey drizzle that was pattering against the windows, providing a constant backing track to the general quiet chit-chat in the café. Sarah’s shift finished at 7pm and she stuck around for a while to help clear some tables before giving Bucky a kiss on the cheek and heading out the door, turning the open/closed sign around as she left.

Bucky gave Becca a quick call to make sure the school bus had dropped her off safely at home before carrying on with the rest of the cleaning. If he was lucky, there was a good chance he’d be done by 7.30 and could get home before 8; a new record for him, usually it was 8.30 at the earliest.

He was scrubbing at a completely unidentifiable substance on one of the tables when the door rang behind him. He spoke without bothering to look up.

“Sorry, we’re closed. Unless this is, like, a robbery or somethin’, in which case my manager took the cash with her earlier and I’m flat out broke so ‘fraid I can’t help ya”

The person coughed and made a hesitant sound as Bucky sighed, wiping a forearm across his slightly sweaty forehead and set the cloth down on the table. Apparently a ‘closed’ sign meant nothing to some people

“Look-“

He stopped as he whirled around and came face-to-face with the person who had very rudely interrupted his record-breaking cleaning pace. Bucky could feel his mouth gaping as his entire grasp of the English language left him.

**_Fuck._ **

“Fuck”

Bucky spoke before he could filter his words, wincing slightly at the roughness of his voice, left over from this morning, but really it was the only thing he could have said given the situation.

“Urm, hi?”

Steve stood hesitantly in the doorway for a moment, wringing his large hands and looking far too awkward for a man his size. Bucky wasn’t used to being the least fidgety person in the room.

“Sorry, do you mind if-“ he broke off for a second, scanning Bucky’s face which Bucky was aware looked a complete state, what with his red nose and the dark circles under his eyes.

Steve took a visible breath, straightening his posture and suddenly he seemed like a completely different man.

“Do you mind if I come in? I know you’re not open, but I’d like a word if that’s alright with you?”

Bucky just blinked in reply. It was as if a jolt of electricity had surged through his head, knocking away any coherent thoughts he might have or mask of normality that he usually cloaked himself in. A small frown appeared on Steve’s face as he considered Bucky.

“You don’t have to say yes, obviously. You- you DO remember me from last night though?”

The uncertainty on Steve’s face was enough to wake Bucky up from his internal panic, just enough to respond in a voice that was practically a whisper.

“Yeah. Come in”


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Captain America’ would have to take a step back it seemed; with his charisma and confidence that Bucky, he could tell, would be wary of. Difficult, tentative situations like this called for Steve Roger’s unique brand of awkwardness and optimism.
> 
> Now he was here, though, Steve Rogers was somewhat lost for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cold, bandaged, and used,  
> Tender, wild, and racing for your love, out there.

Bucky looked terrified.

That was the only thing on Steve’s mind as he stepped inside the café. He was almost tempted to look over his shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anyone behind him holding a gun or something ready to rob the place, but he had seen this look before, in the alley.

Bucky’s eyes were watery and wide, darting around the room, barely landing on Steve’s body for a second, let alone allowing their gazes to meet, and his arms had come up almost automatically to fold across his body, like a shield. If Steve hadn’t seen him react the same way to the paramedics the night before, he would have assumed it was just him that Bucky was so afraid of rather than, it seemed, most people. Or most men, anyway.

The bell on the door rang again as he clicked the door shut behind him as slowly as he could. The ‘startled fawn’ look on Bucky’s face made Steve want to be very quiet and calm so as not to startle him. There was a strange urge somewhere deep inside Steve that was screaming “protect him, protect him” and as much as he found himself trying to ignore it, to push away this deep-seated urge he felt to wrap this complete stranger up in a warm blanket and keep him away from the world, he couldn’t help but behave a lot more meekly then he usually would.

‘Captain America’ would have to take a step back it seemed; with his charisma and confidence that Bucky, he could tell, would be wary of. Difficult, tentative situations like this called for Steve Roger’s unique brand of awkwardness and optimism.

Now he was here, though, Steve Rogers was somewhat lost for words.

 

*************************************

 

It had been mid-to-late afternoon by the time Steve had finally pulled the car into the underground parking facility at Avengers Tower.

With hindsight, perhaps driving himself hadn’t been the best idea; his head was still a bit fuzzy and the cut on his scalp, although already partly healed, was still throbbing slightly. But he had made it back without incident, which made a change these days.

He had barely left the elevator and stepped into the lobby when a very harassed-looking Pepper almost barrelled into him, enveloping him in a hug. It was so far removed from her customary professional, poised demeanour that Steve felt himself let out a small, very undignified squeak of surprise and Pepper patted his back familiarly before taking a step back and holding him at arms length. Her eyes swept his body for any grievous injuries the doctors and SHIELD could have somehow missed.

Once satisfied, she dropped her hands from his shoulders and smiled warmly up at him.

“How are you, Steve?”

“Can I get back to you on that later, Miss Potts?”

Steve laughed as he spoke, the events of the day so far catching up with him as a very faint feeling of hysteria settled over him. Pepper seemed to feel the mood he was in, so she settled her face into her usual, collected expression and looped her arm with his, leading him back into the elevator.

“Of course you can. I took the liberty of having some of your belongings bought over from your flat. I’m afraid a lot of them were damaged in the… incident. There was barely anything left”

Steve snorted in an undignified manner that his mother would certainly never have stood for when he was a kid. By the way Pepper raised her eyebrow at him, she wasn’t too keen either.

“Sorry. But, there was barely anything there in the first place, ma’am. Really, I’m sure you got everything, thank you”

“You’re welcome, Steve,” there was silence for a few seconds as the elevator glided smoothly up several floors “and for God’s sake,” the elevator doors slid open silently “call me Pepper”.

Steve smiled contritely back at her and Pepper held her hand against the door to keep it open as Steve stepped onto his floor.

“I have meetings for the rest of the day but Tony’s in R&D if you need him. Anything else just ask Jarvis, you remember how?”

“Yes, thanks Ma’a-… Pepper”

“Good. I’ll leave you to it. Jarvis will be waking you at intervals to make sure your concussion isn’t a danger”

“I’m really fi-“

“Peddle that line somewhere else, Captain” Pepper pressed a button and moved back from the door, into the centre of the elevator. There was a small ding. “Oh and Steve,” she smiled kindly at him, “we’re all very glad you’re okay”.

Steve blinked in what was not one of his most eloquent responses as the door slipped shut between them.

“Thank you” he murmured to himself as he was left alone for the first time in what felt like years but had only really been a day.

 

*************************************

 

Steve slept for an hour or so before he couldn’t stand waiting around any more. The sooner he spoke to Tony, the sooner he would find Bucky. Just to thank him… Obviously.

After a very quick, almost scalding shower which felt, frankly, amazing on his still healing muscles, Steve grabbed four slices of toast and headed towards R&D and the fast-paced, high energy mess that was Tony Stark.

The second he stepped into Tony’s lab, Steve understood immediately what his apartment must be looking like after the explosion.

It had all the markings of a crime scene. There wasn’t a single inch of surface that wasn’t covered in some kind of debris or gadget, loose pieces of paper were stacked chaotically on top of computers and whirring metal machines that Steve had never seen before in his life were giving out waves of heat that, when mixed with the copious amounts of paper in the room, was probably the beginnings of a fire hazard. And, of course, there was a body on the floor.

Tony lay on his front, half under a workbench. Steve could hear him muttering to himself as he scrabbled around for whatever he had clearly dropped under there.

Steve cleared his throat as obnoxiously and loudly as he could (what could he say? Stark bought out the petty side of him) and smiled slightly as Tony swore loudly and jerked upwards, his hair flapping uncontrollably over his forehead. He had clearly been here for some time, the product that he usually plastered into his hair had long gone and it was sticking up in every direction possible. He looked like a cartoon.

As soon as he saw it was Steve, Tony rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Oh no, yeah, sure. Please DO give me a heart attack, that would be great. Did your mother never tell you it’s rude to sneak up on a man in his lab? Or his, I don’t know, outhouse or whatever people used in the ‘good ‘ol days’ to fashion their doohickeys and practice their witchcraft?”

Tony held out his hand and Steve hauled him to his feet. Tony brushed himself down and waved his hand in Steve’s general direction before moving around the other side of the workbench to sit on a stool that was placed in front of large heap of metal fragments.

“You look fine. I told them all not to be so melodramatic”

Steve inclined his head and moved towards the workbench. He was trying to think of how best to approach this situation. With Stark, it never hurt to be too careful. It was as Steve was thinking about how best to broach his little ‘missing person’ problem that Tony’s eyes narrowed with a suspicion that Steve had learnt to be very wary of.

“What?” Steve asked, trying to keep his voice light and trustworthy Tony tapped his fingers along the edge of the table before resting his elbows on the workbench and steepling his fingers.

He raised an eyebrow at Steve, but didn’t speak, which was a rarity.

“You look like a Bond villain” Steve was proud of himself for that reference, he would make sure to mention that to Sam later.

Tony smacked his lips together before answering.

“Firstly, congrats, big moment for you; making a fairly current, applicable pop-culture reference. I’m so proud. Secondly,” the side of Tony’s mouth quirked “you want something. Is it to do with last night? It’s last night isn’t it? What about it? Nothing Hydra-y because you know it’s need to know and Fury and I don’t see eyes to _eye_ on what I NEED to know. So, maybe not last night. Although, weird timing if it’s not, so it definitely is. And it’s important because you wouldn’t come down here if it wasn’t because I put your nerves on edge--”

It occurred to Steve that Tony may be a genius, but his ability to talk quicker than anyone could understand (except for, maybe, Pepper) was perhaps one of his most impressive traits, much as Steve personally hated it. He held up a hand to stop Tony chattering. It was all he could think of since he clearly wasn’t going to get a word in edgeways. Tony’s jaw slammed shut.

“I need a favour, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The gleeful smirk that spread over Tony’s face was enough to put even Mother Theresa into a foul mood.

“Oh DO you now? The great Captain America wants a favour from little Tony Stark does he?” Tony clapped his hands together elatedly “Alright then, what is it?”

“Before I say, you can’t tell anyone. ANYONE, Tony”

“Not even—“

“Not even Pepper” Steve interrupted.

It was unfair, he knew that, to ask Tony to lie to his partner. But it was a small thing, Steve argued to himself, SUCH a small thing. Tony frowned slightly, a serious look replacing his previous arrogance.

“Okaaaay, well that depends on what this favour is. If it’s telling Bruce that the yoga DVD he’s bought you for your birthday is crap, then fine. If it’s hacking into the secure files of a secret government organization I _may_ need to let her know. She gets mad when I do things like that and don’t mention it to her”

“Yoga?”

“That’s what you’re going wi—Fine. Yeah, yoga. Spoilers, sorry”

Steve shrugged; he’d had worse presents. The scarlet fever he got for his seventh birthday was a lot worse than yoga instructions. Probably.

“Alright. Well, it’s somewhere between the two, then. Not a big deal to anyone but me, and not a threat to national security”

“Oh.” Tony huffed “so, boring then?”

He looked genuinely disappointed. Steve laughed,

“Sorry”

“Urgh, what is it then? Spit it out Capitano”

“I need you to find someone for me. I only have a nickname and a general description though so I don’t know if it’s entirely possible but I thought you’d be the man to ask”

Tony blinked at him slowly.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be REALLY hard”

He rolled his eyes again before pushing away from the workbench and over to another counter where he pressed a button set into the surface. A large holographic screen appeared right through the area Steve was standing in so he stepped towards Tony to get a better view.

“Jarvis!?”

“Yes, sir?”

Steve fought the small shudder he still felt every time Tony’s robotic butler’s voice filled the room. He tried not to feel it, every time, but it was just _so_ alien, _so_  futuristic that he had something of a mental-block about it. He made sure he was always extra-polite to Jarvis to make up for it. It was purely out of guilt, even though he supposed Jarvis didn’t technically have any feelings to hurt. Or did he? Either way, he didn’t want to be rude.

“What’s the name?” Tony asked Steve. He hesitated for a second before replying; too late to back out now.

“Bucky. He’s in his early twenties, maybe. Dark hair, pale, from Brooklyn, definitely”

“You get all that, Jarvis?” Tony said to the room.

“Of course, sir. Searching for any and all matches”

Tony turned back to Steve.

“Give it a second.” There was a small silence, broken up only by the whirring of several of the machines in the room. Steve sat in a lower chair next to the wall. “So,” Tony drew out the word awkwardly “last night, huh? Do you wanna tell me orrrr…” He let the sentence hang, ready for Steve to reply.

“Tony… I know as much as you do, probably. I woke up, there were people in my apartment wearing Hydra insignias, they shot at me, I shot at them, I fell and went to hospital. I’m fine. Nat and Clint are looking into it.”

“And not you?”

“No.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Steve tried to keep the sullen glare off his face, Tony was helping him, after all.

“I suppose. For now, anyway”

“Because you have other things on your mind?”

“What do you—“

“This… Bucky? He’s got something to do with last night’s shenanigans, right?”

Steve felt his body stiffen as he fought to keep his face blank.

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, yeah. Top secret, I got it. Friend or foe, though?”

“What?”

“Is he a good guy or a bad guy? Prof X or Magneto? Chocolate or cigarettes? Actually, scrap the last one, they’re both great but… You know. Do we need to worry about this guy?”

“Oh! No, no. He’s… Yeah, he’s good. A good guy”

Tony nodded thoughtfully for a second and then smirked again

“Great! Because I’d hate to have to go and beat him up for you, since you clearly can’t handle yourself in a fight”

Steve laughed despite himself. Tony didn’t often show that he cared, but when he did it was usually via sarcasm and barbed insults. Or buying REALLY expensive things. Steve was touched, honestly.

“Thanks, Stark. I appreciate it”

Tony’s snort of amusement was interrupted by Jarvis.

“Sirs, I believe I have identified the person of interest you requested I look for. It is highly likely that ‘Bucky’ is one James Buchanan Barnes of Brooklyn. 24 years of age. No known address, but a handful of personal social media accounts belonging to Brooklyn residents have mentioned the word ‘Bucky’ alongside the phrases: ‘Frank’s Café’, ‘cute ass’ and ‘pretty boy’, if that helps narrow your search parameters?” Tony snorted again and side-eyed Steve. Steve kept his gaze fixed mulishly on the ceiling “Pay slips from the café go out to this James Buchanan Barnes. I also have access to his birth certificate. But he has no passport or medical insurance and isn’t a high school graduate. In fact there is no trace of him on any government databases in the last ten years and he has no personal social media accounts of his own. That is all I managed to find, Sirs. I can however keep looking if more information is required?”

Tony raised an eyebrow questioningly at Steve.

“No. Thank you, Jarvis.” Steve spoke to the ceiling

“You are very welcome, Captain Rogers”

There was another silence that stretched for almost half a minute whilst Steve considered the information he had been given. He knew where Frank’s Café was, maybe he could go right now and see if Bucky was there, maybe-

“Hey!” Tony’s voice interrupted Steve’s internal conversation. Steve jumped minutely before turning back to Tony

“Sorry. I was just… thinking”

“About that cute ass?”

Steve didn’t have to see himself to know that he had gone an embarrassing shade of scarlet

“What?! No! I—That’s not—NO!”

Tony hummed unconvincingly

“Suuuure. Me thinks thou doth protest too much, Cap. But whatever, I’m not going to ask. Not that people would care, you know, if you DID think he had a cute ass. Or if you just think boys in general have cute asses or, you know. Well, PEOPLE would probably care, but WE wouldn’t care, if you get what I mean?”

Tony had started busying himself with moving pieces of metal fragments into separate dishes as he chattered away, steadfastly not making eye contact with Steve. Steve appreciated that. He was sure he had gone an interesting shade of puce.

“Right. That’s… I’m going to go now” Steve rose from his seat and made his way towards the door. Before he left, resolutely not turning around, he added “And thanks, for… Just, thanks, Tony”

He heard Tony cough embarrassedly in a ‘manly’, asserting-my-dominance kind of way as the door slid shut behind him. They wouldn’t be having _that_ conversation again in a hurry.

It was only when he got to the elevator that Steve stopped to consider his options.

Option 1: Forget about this whole thing, Bucky probably wouldn’t be interested in seeing him anyway.

Option 2: Leave it for the morning, think it over thoroughly and make a decision when he’s actually had some proper sleep.

Option 3: Screw the first two options and go find Bucky now.

The third option was probably the least sensible choice.

So, naturally, that’s the one he went with.

 

*************************************

 

He hadn’t stopped to think when he had seen Bucky through the large, slightly grimy windows of the Café; he had just walked up to the door and gone inside. If he had have taken just a minute to compose himself, Steve would perhaps not be as lost for words as he was in that moment.

He had experienced many awkward situations in his life, too many to count, really and yet this was fast becoming one of the most uncomfortable ones in his memory.

This was mainly because he was aware of how clearly overwhelmed Bucky was feeling. His dark hair, dry now, was falling across his lowered forehead so his eyes were out of Steve’s view, although he could see those lips, peeking out from beneath the locks. He was still biting them. They were so red.

Bucky tightened his arms around himself slightly as Steve coughed to try and break the tension.

“Urm,” Good start, Steve “I was just… I wanted…” Steve took a breath and kept his gaze focused on Bucky so that if he looked up there would be some eye-contact involved “I just wanted to say thank you, for what you did last night. You didn’t have to, but you did anyway and that’s just- that’s… swell”

Bucky’s head tilted upwards suddenly and he brushed a stray lock out of his eyes as he caught Steve’s gaze tentatively. He looked confused and it took a few false starts before he spoke.

“Swell?”

Steve couldn’t help himself; he snorted with laughter, a small blush coming onto his cheeks. He rubbed his hand over his screwed up nose before answering.

“Yeah. Sorry. I mean,” Steve searched his vocabulary for a modern word he had heard used in this setting “I mean… Cool?”

He couldn’t help the slight questioning edge he put on the sentence. He sounded like an idiot. But Bucky laughed. Just a little, a short giggle as he bit his lip to stop it coming out, but Steve still counted the win.

“Cool? _Wow_. Well, thanks for, you know, your thanks.” Now it was Bucky’s turn to blush “It really weren’t anythin’… It’s fine, you didn’t have to come and—“ He paused for a second, a slight indentation appearing on his forehead between his eyes as he furrowed his eyebrows slightly “How did you know where to find me?”

Steve had foreseen this one. Every fiber of his body was screaming at him not to lie to Bucky’s face, to just tell him the truth and see what happened. But… But Bucky didn’t recognize him, that much was obvious. Bucky was speaking to him like he was anyone else, like he was normal, and Steve craved that. He hesitated for a second.

“I was just walking past, trying to remember some stuff from last night and I saw you through the window. I just wanted… “ He trailed off, his chest felt constricted. He hated lying.

“You just wanted to tell me that I’m ‘cool’?” Bucky quirked his eyebrows slightly, his mouth fighting back a smile. Steve grinned,

“Hey! I didn’t say you were cool, jerk, I said what you did was cool. Thank you very much”

Bucky looked slightly shell-shocked for moment before seemingly realizing that Steve was joking and gathering himself. He smiled properly this time, a small smile, but it was there. It was beautiful. Steve had never thought that about a guy before. It had been a weird couple of days.

“Ah. Sorry, pal, my mistake”

Bucky’s arms were still crossed across his body, but looser now, more casual. Steve could see faint bruises around his wrists and he wanted to ask about them, about who had given them to him. But he held himself back. The last thing he wanted to do was get Bucky all tense again. Steve was distracted anyway as Bucky started to speak again.

“I’m, urm, I’m glad you’re okay anyway. Your head was kinda sucky. You were right though, ya do heal fast” Bucky eyed Steve’s hairline suspiciously for a second “really fast”.

Steve forced himself to laugh.

“Yeah, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. My mom always said I was a ‘dramatic bleeder’, get everyone worried over nothing” He shuffled his feet for a second. It was now or never “Anyway, I wanted… I was wondering if I could maybe, I don’t know, buy you lunch or a drink or something sometime? Just to say thanks.”

“You want to take me out?”

Bucky’s posture had tightened up again, his face carefully blank, any traces of laughter gone as if they had never been there in the first place.

“Yes. You don’t have to though”

Bucky frowned, cracking the emotionless veil over his face.

“I don’t?”

It was Steve’s turn to frown. Bucky flinched slightly at the expression so Steve smoothed his features to a bland smile.

“Of course not. Just, if you wanted to—to do that with me, I would like that. Whenever you want. You don’t have to”

Although quite why Bucky seemed to feel like he wouldn’t be given an option was beyond Steve. It felt strangely like he had to make Bucky’s freedom of choice explicitly clear to him or he would just do whatever Steve wanted. That thought was concerning.

“Oh…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his mouth for a bit, staring at a spot over Steve’s shoulder. Steve let the silence drag for a while; let Bucky consider. Eventually Bucky met Steve’s eyes with his own clear blue ones and nodded bashfully “I think—I think that would be ‘cool’”

Steve grinned again; he couldn’t stop smiling around Bucky it seemed.

“You’re such a jerk,” He laughed as Bucky smiled back at him sheepishly “When are you free?”

Bucky seemed to turn a few things over in his head before replying.

“I mean, I’m working here tomorrow. I get an hour for lunch at 12.30? If you’re busy then though, I get it—“

“No, that’s fine, that’s great. I’ll meet you here tomorrow”

Bucky nodded and ducked his head again, probably to hide the smile that Steve could see on his lips.

“’Kay. See ya tomorrow” Steve let himself out, closing the door softly behind him as he went.

He caught Bucky’s eye just before he began to leave and Bucky grinned before covering his face with his hands in embarrassment. He turned away from Steve, grabbed a dishcloth off the table behind him and hurried over to the counter and out of view, presumably to finish closing up.

Steve was tempted to stay and make sure no one caused any trouble, it was a rough neighbourhood, but he forced himself to leave. Much as he already felt protective over Bucky, Bucky would probably see it as something more akin to ‘creepy’ if he loitered around outside in a dark alleyway and that is something Steve really didn’t want happening. He walked over to his bike and swung his leg over it, kicking it to a start. He had one more stop before heading back to the tower and his huge double-king sized bed.

 

*************************************

 

The damage from the explosion was obvious, even from the outside.

The old brick that the building was made of was scorched around his floor and the large, uneven hole in the wall had been covered up with construction plastic to try and prevent any more damage being done to the inside. Fortunately it seemed that the blast had been confined to his apartment; his neighbours would be able to get back into their homes as soon as the building was declared structurally sound. Steve made a mental note to try and do what he could to speed the process along. The idea that good people were being forced out of their own homes because of his problems made him feel very uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t be here, you know” It took most of Steve’s self-restraint not to visibly startle at the sudden voice next to him.

“Mmm. Well, for a soldier, I’ve never been very good at following orders” He turned his head to look down at the figure by his side.

“Oh, I know.”

Natasha wore her customary, all-knowing smirk on her face as she continued to survey the building in front of them. Steve wondered what she was seeing that he wasn’t. Probably a lot. Natasha saw everything.

“The bomb they used is the same type used in that factory explosion in St. Petersburg a month ago. And the hotel attack in Mumbai the month before that. Quick triggers; flick a switch, set the device where you want it and wait 30 seconds or so. Boom…” She gestured towards the building with her left hand and turned to face him. “Here, I presume this is what you’re looking for.”

There was no question in her voice, there never was with Natasha, and she held her right arm out towards him. His shield. Steve took it from her, lifting it with ease. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Show off”

He smirked back and inspected the shield under the flickering glow of the streetlights.

It was as scorched as the building it had been salvaged from. Clearly the explosion had made its literal mark on it. But it wasn’t dented; there were no cracks or holes visible to the naked eye. Apart from the blackened tinge and brick dust covering it, his shield was as good as new.

“She’s gonna need a new paintjob” he murmured, turning the shield over to look at the underside. The straps were still intact so he threw it over his shoulders to rest against his back and looked back at Natasha. “Thank you”

Natasha’s smirk warmed slightly for a second before settling back into that enigmatic look.

“You’re welcome, Rogers. Now unless there’s anything else…”

She trailed off, still maintaining his gaze.

“Do you know yet? If it really was—“

Natasha interrupted him.

“No. We don’t. But we will find out” She sighed, tucking her hair back behind her ear “Look, Steve… When I know, you’ll know. For what it’s worth, I give you my word”

Steve studied her for a moment, looking for any deception, any sign of dishonesty. Before realizing that even if she was lying, he would never be able to tell. The Widow’s ability to deceive and spin tales was unrivalled. He would just have to trust his friend.

“It's worth a lot, Nat, thanks.” He answered, sincerely.

Natasha nodded once and winked at him before turning and walking off silently down the street.

“See you around, Rogers” She called back to him, before the murky gloom swallowed her up, like she was never there.

Steve took one last look up at his ruined apartment before grabbing his bike and making the journey back to Avengers Tower.

Whatever was going on, whoever it was that had tried to kill him and would presumably try to again; Steve couldn’t help but feel a squeeze of excitement in his stomach as he rode back to the tower. Yes, there was an as-yet-unidentified group (though probably Hydra; the group he had literally given his life once to destroy) out to get him. And yes, his apartment now had an unwanted, slightly chargrilled quality to it. BUT, he had found Bucky. And they were having lunch. Tomorrow.

Steve still hadn’t looked too closely at exactly why he felt so exhilarated when he thought about Bucky. But he decided that perhaps it was best not to. He would take Bucky out, just to say thank you, and that would be that. Maybe they could even be friends, if Bucky wanted. That was all.

Friends. Pals. Buddies.

Steve grimaced to himself. He was so screwed.

He spent the rest of the ride back pointedly not thinking about wide, blue eyes and a shy, beautiful smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read this far and left kudos and comments! You guys are the best.
> 
> If you have anything you'd like to see in this story, let me know and I will see what I can do x
> 
> (Oh, and Merry Christmas, happy holidays etc etc)


	5. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now Bucky had a date.  
> Is it even a date if it’s just to say thank you? That was probably something he ought to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still yearning,  
> I'm still chasing for your love, out there.

Bucky smiled for the rest of the evening.

He smiled when he had to mop bacon grease off the floor at the café. He smiled when two men in an alleyway very crudely propositioned him on his walk home. He even smiled when he got back to the flat and Becca shoved a consent form in his face for a school trip she absolutely “had” to go on in December (even though it cost $500 that they definitely didn’t have).

It was all Steve’s fault. No one had ever asked him on an actual, genuine date. Not once. Although he supposed that was now no longer true. Maybe.

 

*************************************

 

If Bucky was honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened that evening after Steve had turned up.

Everything was a massive mess of anxiety, confusion and inexplicable warmth right up until Steve had asked him out.

He remembered that bit. The fear.

He had been starting to feel, not at ease, but relatively calm with their easy back-and-forth joking and awkwardness; like they had known each other for years, like Bucky didn’t have to be on guard around him like he always had to be around other people. And then Steve had opened his stupid, gorgeous mouth and offered to take him out sometime. Bucky knew what that meant; what that ALWAYS meant.

All the light, embarrassingly fluffy ‘Steve-feelings’ had disappeared, snuffed out in one decisive second. The chill from those words had crept in slowly, almost like the feeling of hands round his neck, snaking down around his arms and chest until he felt as though he couldn’t breath. Of course it was too good to be true, of COURSE it was.

That was when he had switched off. He always did that, when things were just _too_ much. He didn’t use to do it.

When he was a child he had felt every single emotion, every punch, every slur, every time his Mom’s boyfriend had… Every single time was etched onto his memory, unwanted images that he could never erase, never be clean of.

Now, he didn’t have to feel.

He wasn’t in control of the blankness and if it crept up on him at an unwanted time it could be an extremely difficult thing to explain away, but he was disgustingly grateful for it. It meant that thinking back on some of the worst stuff he had done in the past decade only made him feel numb, rather than the disgust and shame he would otherwise have felt.

Sure, he still couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, but at least he had a chance of keeping up some semblance of normality.

That all too familiar emptiness had settled over him when Steve had asked him that question. Bucky had felt himself answer automatically; the way he would speak to any other potential client. Polite, professional, direct. But then Steve had said that he didn’t have to, that it was his choice. All his. And it was as if Steve had just thrown a giant bucket of water in his face. The usual pattern had changed. Steve clearly wasn’t joking, in fact he had looked almost concerned, it wasn’t just a glib offer. He meant it. It was Bucky’s choice whether he wanted to ‘go out’ with Steve.

**_NO!_ **

…had been his brain’s immediate reaction. Naturally. The fear, the adrenaline coursing through his body was speaking for him, overruling any underlying wishes or desires he might have.

 ** _Run_** , it was screaming at him.

The fight or flight response had never been something that Bucky had experienced for himself, not as an adult anyway. His usual reaction in a situation was to just do nothing and let whatever was inevitably going to happen to him anyway, happen to him. It tended to hurt a lot less that way, in the long run.

And yet… This time was different. There was a strange wrenching in the center of his chest. Bucky felt how he imagined a fish caught in a line would feel, being pulled straight towards his captor. Towards Steve. This incredible stranger who, for some reason or other, wanted to spend time with _him_ , of all people. How could he refuse that? Did he even want to?

Bucky realized, standing there, that he had been thinking the issue over for a lot longer than was probably socially acceptable. It was his decision: head or heart.

Thinking about it like that made it pretty simple really. Bucky knew his brain was fucked up. Plus, it had never really led him anywhere good. He could do it. He could go on one maybe-date with a possibly, genuinely nice man. For once in his life, he could be normal.

He had said yes.

 

*************************************

 

And now Bucky had a date.

**_Is it even a date if it’s just to say thank you?_ **

That was probably something he ought to know.

But he had never dated before, never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, never even slept with anyone he wanted to sleep with. If you could call the things he sometimes had to do with people as ‘sleeping with’ someone, anyway.

And, if it was a date, then what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to talk about? Wear? Act like? It was one thing to say yes to a date, but another thing entirely to actually go on one and not make an utter fool of himself.

Even more worryingly; what if Steve was actually one of those crazy serial killers, like the ones Bucky had seen on the Crime Network? What if asking Bucky out was just a way to get him alone so he could bludgeon him with a frozen ham or something and then use his skin to make lampshades? Bucky didn’t want to be a lampshade. Not when he had bills to pay and a sister to take care of. He probably wouldn’t want to even if he didn’t…

And Becca. What would he tell Becca? Did he even need to tell Becca? If her big brother was going to be turned into a human lampshade then she would almost certainly want to be made aware of that fact. What would she do without him? Would she be sent back home, back to _them_? That couldn’t happen he would never let that happen. Not to Becca, not to his sister.

The smile that had seemed permanently etched onto his face earlier in the evening disappeared now that he was in his bed, alone with just his thoughts swirling round and around his mind. The customary panic was setting in and Bucky curled himself up into a ball under his duvet, willing it to stop. But his brain never stopped, was never quiet. It just picked up momentum, the thoughts coming faster and faster until he couldn’t breath, until his head felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside out.

**_You’re a mess, Barnes. A pathetic, strung-out whore who doesn’t even know how to behave around a man unless they’re fucking you._ **

True.

**_He’s too good for you. It’s not a date, he probably just feels sorry for you. Sorry for the filthy little hooker who can’t look himself in the mirror without flinching._ **

Also true.

**_Worthless._ **

True.

**_Dirty._ **

True.

**_Used up._ **

True.

**_Waste of oxyg-_ **

“-cky?”

There was someone in front of him. They weren’t touching him. That was good. He didn’t like people touching him, didn’t like their disgusting hands all over his skin. Rough, violating, painful-

“Bucky?”

They were speaking to him. His vision was blurry. Somewhere in the dark (or darker) recesses of his mind he knew that he was crying, could feel the hot tears running across the bridge of his nose and across his other cheek into his hair.

He also knew he couldn’t breath. His lungs were on fire.

The other person reached out and placed a hand against his chest. It felt like a brand, searing against his frigid skin. He wanted to scream, but then they’d be angry.

**_Don’t scream. Don’t move. Don’t fight. Not unless they want you to._ **

The other person was speaking again, he could barely hear the words over the pounding of his own heart echoing around his skull.

“Please, Bucky, I don’t know what to do, please stop.” Another hand grabbed one of his and pressed it to the stranger’s chest. “Breath with me, just…” He could feel their lungs expanding slowly and then deflating, despite the violent tremor running through their body. Or was it his hand that was trembling?

He tried to do what he was told. He always did what he was told.

“There you go. That’s real good, Bucky. ‘Kay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

The voices in his head were still there, mocking and taunting, but after a few minutes they began getting quieter, more manageable. He could hear the other person still murmuring in a low, quivering voice.

It was Becca, he realized suddenly. Becca was seeing him like this, in this state. The sudden recognition nearly threw him right back into the vortex again, but he couldn’t do that, she sounded so scared.

“Becs,” Bucky’s voice was barely a whisper, he tried to clear his throat but it made no difference “’m sorry, I’m sorry, Becs.”

She shushed him, lowering his hand from her sternum and onto the bed, enveloping it in both of hers.

“Shut up, it’s okay. It’s okay” She sounded more like she was trying to reassure herself than Bucky.

They sat like that in silence for what was probably five minutes (but could just as easily have been an hour), the stillness interrupted only by the sound of Bucky’s still heavy breathing. Becca hadn’t switched any lights on, so the room was lit only by the orange-y glow of streetlights and the flickering bulb in the hallway outside the front door.

Becca broke the peaceful quiet with a whisper.

“Do you want a drink?”

Bucky tried to speak, but his throat was so dry and sore that he couldn’t get the words out. Whether that was from whatever virus he had managed to pick up or if he had been screaming without realizing it, he wasn’t sure. He really hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Without the ability to speak, he just shook his head, trying to force a smile onto his face. Whatever pathetic grimace he had managed to conjure up clearly didn’t fool his sister because she raised an eyebrow at him, managing to look distinctly pissed off at the same time as being clearly concerned.

“I’m gonna get you some anyway, ‘kay? I’ll be right back”

Becca stood, leaving Bucky’s hand empty and cold on the bed. He bought it back against his chest and tugged the duvet up, trying to find some semblance of warmth, the shivers from his attack still running through him. He closed his eyes and let the calming sound of Becca padding around the kitchen area wash over him; the clinking of a spoon against the side of a mug and the kettle whistling softly in the background creating a soothing lullaby, just for him.

By the time she came back to him a few minutes later, Bucky’s heart had almost returned to a normal pace and the panic that had overcome his entire body earlier had dulled to a bone-deep exhaustion instead. He sat up as Becca held a mug out to him. It was her favourite one; a dark, deep green with no chips in the ceramic and ‘Is it Tea you’re looking for?’ written on the side of it. She smiled as he took it from her, both of their hands steady, and crawled onto his mattress next to him with her own mug.

She dragged one of his pillows behind her to cushion her back against the wall and took a sip of her drink.

Becca immediately leant forward again, spluttering as she stuck her tongue out of her mouth. Bucky laughed quietly and forced himself to speak.

“Bit hot?”

“Shu’ up.”

They both relaxed back against the wall, not talking, just breathing in the soothing steam from their chamomile teas and occasionally kicking each other gently under the sheets.

Inevitably Becca was the one to break the silence. She had always been chatty; loud where Bucky was quiet, opinionated where he was meek and open where he was shuttered. He had always admired her tenacity, her willingness to speak up. Except for moments like this, of course, where he would rather never speak about the incident again.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

Becca wasn’t looking at him, he was grateful for that. Bucky risked taking a sip of the drink just to give him some time to respond. It didn’t burn his tongue, but the liquid was still hot, warming him from the inside-out.

“Yeah.”

“Bucky…” Becca nudged his knee with her foot.

“I am. Really, Becs. I’m-“

“Fine. You’re fine. You’re always fine.”

Bucky frowned at the weary bitterness in her tone. She sounded a lot older than twelve.

“Becs-“

“I get it, Bucky. You don’t want to tell me what’s wrong because you never tell me what’s wrong”

“Because there IS nothing wrong. It was just a stupid nightmare, I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Becca slammed her mug down on the floor next to the mattress and turned to glare at him. He struggled to meet her gaze, furious as it was. That look, even from his little sister, made him want to run away and hide. He didn’t though. Mainly because she was between him and the rest of the room, but still…

“That wasn’t a nightmare, you were awake, you were looking right through me like I wasn’t even there –“

“Bec-“

“NO. I’m not just some stupid kid, it’s ME, Bucky. Please…” Becca’s eyes had filled with tears but she wiped them away angrily with her sleeve. “I’m your sister.”

Which was exactly why he couldn’t tell her. They were all each other had, really, at the end of the day. Bucky needed to be there for her, to be the mother and father that she had never had, to be strong so that she didn’t have to be. She was his little sister. Letting her know what he did for a living, letting her know exactly what her father had been doing to him when they were younger, letting her know that there were days where he just wanted to curl down into the bottom of the hall closet and scream and scream until he couldn’t breath; those were all things he could never do.

Bucky gritted his teeth before looking Becca directly in the eyes. He could lie to her, he was a brilliant liar, it was the only thing he was really any good at.

“Becca, it was a nightmare, or a night terror or something. I’ve been working like crazy to get the rent and… I don’t know, it must have fuc- screwed with my head a bit. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Honest, Becca. If it was anything serious I would tell you. I’m just tired.”

Becca still didn’t look completely convinced. They trusted each other, was the issue. Becca was being torn between what she could clearly see in front of her: him having a major freak out, and what Bucky was telling her: that he was fine. They had it engrained that they would always trust each other, that it was the two of them against the world and that they’d never lie to or deceive each other.

**_Well, Becca never does, does she? It’s always you…_ **

Bucky dredged a smile up from somewhere and gave Becca’s leg a little nudge.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

He could see Becca’s shoulders relax slightly as she seemed to accept his promise and she grinned back at him. He felt like shit.

“Alright. If you say so. Next time you have a nightmare like that, you’re making your own tea then.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and pushed Becca gently until she clambered to her feet, nearly kicking her half empty mug over as she stood.

“Fine. Go on, get to bed or you’re gonna have a crappy day at school tomorrow”

Becca groaned as she grabbed her mug and shuffled towards her bedroom.

“Can I not just-“

“Not a chance in hell.”

She groaned again, even more dramatically than the first time as she stepped into her room.

“Night Becs!”

There was a grumbled ‘yeah, yeah’ from Becca as the door closed behind her, leaving Bucky alone again with his thoughts. He had to get a hold of himself.

Bucky hadn’t had a panic attack in a while. Because that was what it was. He could lie to Becca as much as he wanted but it wouldn’t make them go away. He knew what would though; he had to take his medicine.

Lifting a corner of his mattress away from the floor, Bucky reached underneath it and pulled out a small, orange pharmaceutical bottle. The pills inside it were a complete mystery to him. The label on the side that described what was in the bottle had been removed and a label with his name on it stuck in its place.

They told him to take a pill every day, so he did. They told him not to ask what they were, so he didn’t. They told them to trust him, but he didn’t, he didn’t trust anyone, so he shrugged off the discomfort and took them anyway.

Whatever was in those pills didn’t matter to him. Whatever they wanted to do to him, to his body, they were allowed to do. He was theirs. That was how it worked.

And besides, the pills let him sleep. Bucky downed a couple of pills with the remainder of his tea and, after replacing the bottle in its hiding place, sank back down into his bed.

 

*************************************

 

If Bucky thought he had felt ill the day before, it was nothing compared to how he felt the next morning.

His flu was worse; the fogginess in his head pressing so hard against the inside of his skull he was surprised smoke wasn’t coming out his ears and his muscles felt like they were made from stone; stiff and inflexible.

Even more unnervingly, he was struggling to think in coherent English, his thoughts becoming jumbled with Russian and Romanian phrasing, even as he made a concerted effort to construct full, intelligible sentences in his head.

Disturbing as it was, this particular issue wasn’t a new phenomenon.

Raised (for want of a better word) by a Romanian mother, he had grown up completely bilingual and often found himself slipping from one language into the other in his own mind without meaning to; it was a fairly common occurrence. Although he was particularly careful not to do it vocally – Brock wouldn’t like that.

The Russian however… that was more disconcerting to Bucky.

He had started learning Russian at fourteen, the year he had started working at Echidna.

Sasha had insisted and, eager to please, Bucky had spent whatever time he could pouring over Russian text books and literature, not only picking up the basics of the language incredibly fast but also avoiding their mom and Becca’s dad as a by-product.

It was only a year later, when Sasha had moved him out of his mother’s house and into his and Becca’s new flat and Bucky had started actually seeing clients, that he had realized why Sasha was so keen on him learning Russian in the first place. The club was practically crawling with members of the Russian mob.

They would sit around the back rooms, a girl or boy in their laps and ‘chat shop’… in Russian, of course. Sasha, ever the businessman, needed a spy of sorts. Someone the Russians would speak carelessly in front of but who was utterly loyal to Sasha. Enter, Bucky.

The Russians liked him. One of them in particular, Sergei, always requested him, could barely keep his hands off him. He was the first official client Bucky had and Bucky’s job was simple and twofold: keep Sergei happy and report back everything he said.

The first one was easier than the second. Sergei liked to be rough, liked how much smaller Bucky was than him, how easy it was to press him face-down into one of the beds in the back room and fuck him to the point of unconsciousness.

There had been times, particularly early on, where Bucky had passed out with Sergei on top of him and woken up to Brock dragging him out of bed by the hair screaming at him to get back to work.

But he had gotten better at it. And Sergei had become more attached, bringing Bucky to sit in his lap in one of the private booths with his associates, talking freely in their language in front of him. And Bucky had listened. Most of the chat was meaningless; leering at the dancers, friendly insults thrown back and forth, laughing as one or other of the men forced their prostitute’s head into their lap to blow them in front of everyone.

But very occasionally, there would be serious conversation. Bucky did what he was told and remembered all of it, wrote it down as soon as the opportunity presented itself and handed the information to Brock at the end of the night. He didn’t know what the information was used for and he didn’t really care, as long as Sasha was pleased with him, as long as Brock gave him approving nods rather than disgusted grimaces, Bucky was satisfied.

This had continued, right up until the night before Bucky’s sixteenth birthday. The Russians were concerned. They were not happy with Sasha. Or, more accurately, Sasha’s business plans. Echidna was expanding, apparently, into the ‘import and export’ business. Bucky didn’t have a clue what it had meant at the time, still wasn’t completely sure, but the Russians were pissed off. Bucky’s Russian vocabulary had grown significantly in the past year but he still had trouble making out a lot of the discussion. Someone was going to die though, that he did know, and it wasn’t a massive leap of faith to assume that that someone was Sasha.

He had felt nothing but a deep sense of dread the rest of the night, even when Sergei had taken him to his apartment for the night and grabbed his wrists so tight he thought they were going to break.

Bucky had told Brock the next day, had told him everything, even sounding out some of the words he had heard but hadn’t understood. Brock had called Sasha and repeated every word down the phone to him, eyes never leaving Bucky’s. He had been dismissed after that, Brock simply saying “It’s sorted” to him before closing the door in his face.

Bucky had never seen Sergei or any of the Russians again...

Except, of course, on the news a few weeks later. Their bloated bodies being dragged from the East River, a single gunshot visible in the center of each of their pallid foreheads.

Bucky had never really had a reason to speak Russian after that. In fact, Echidna was now a conspicuously Russian-free zone.

But Bucky remembered it all, used it to speak with some people from the neighbourhood in the café or to other clients when he had to work the street. It made them feel more comfortable, more at ease and they usually tipped better if they felt some connection with him, however false that connection may be.

Other than those occasions, Bucky did not speak Russian any more. In fact, his sister didn’t even know he could speak it. Which was why the language contaminating his thoughts when he woke up was a slight worry.

He spent the rest of the early morning making a concerted effort not to speak at all, or if he absolutely needed to reply, just to grunt a one-word response. Becca was looking at him weirdly, but he was used to that and besides, she probably just thought he was embarrassed about the night before (which wasn’t entirely untrue).

Their walk to school had been a muted affair but Bucky shot his sister a bright smile as she headed off into the building and out of sight, before dropping his head into his hands and letting out a groan. Then he remembered he was seeing Steve later that day.

At least the loud, violent curse he shouted in a schoolyard full of children and mothers was in Russian…

 

*************************************

 

The rest of the morning dragged by.

Bucky had seriously considered calling in sick to work; with his current sketchy grasp of the English language and pounding headache, it was a believable reason to stay at home.

But the real problem was Steve. The closer the clock ticked towards 12.30, the more the voices in his head got louder, the more anxiety piled up on his shoulders like a coat of lead. He should leave. Just go home, crawl into bed and forget that Steve ever existed. It would be for the best for both of them, but especially for Steve.

Bucky felt like the walls were closing in around him. Or worse, that there were no walls at all, no ceiling, no floor. He was violently drifting, the hours all merging into one long, monotonous blur, like a ship without an anchor in the middle of a storm. Bucky was just managing to work himself up to another panic attack when Sarah interrupted his freak out with a wide smile.

“Break time, hun”

Bucky looked at the clock. 12.25. He felt his heart stop for a second. He forced a smile onto his face and nodded back, flinging his apron behind the counter and grabbing his jacket off the hook by the back door.

“Ohhh, I see, too fancy-pants to eat here, are we?” Sarah joked, as she tied the drawstrings on a trash bag and dragged it over to him. “Well then, since my food’s not good enough for you, do me a favour and take this out would you?”

Bucky grabbed the bag and heaved it out the door with him without a word.

After disposing of the trash, Bucky leaned against the sidewall of the café, where he could keep an eye on the front door, and pulled a loose cigarette from his jacket pocket. Becca would kill him if she knew he had smoked, and he knew better than to keep whole cigarette cartons somewhere she would see them, but he had hidden a few emergency sticks around for a ‘rainy day’ and Bucky supposed this counted.

Besides, what Becca didn’t know, couldn’t hurt her. That was a rule he lived his life by. One of them, anyway.

 

*************************************

 

It was 12.35 and Steve still hadn’t showed. Bucky was starting to feel overcome by that feeling of rejection, could feel it creeping up his neck, making his face burn.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a few years, since he stopped letting himself hope for anything from anyone else.

_**Should have known better…** _

“Blyad!” Bucky swore to himself. He should have known.

He stamped his cigarette butt out in a small puddle and dragged his hands down his face, giving in to the all-too-familiar helplessness that coursed through him, just for a second. Bucky took a deep breath before pushing himself away from the wall. He needed a drink, immediately. Or…

He had 55 minutes left of his break. That was plenty of time to find someone. There was always somebody hanging around his frequent haunts, willing to pay him. Then he could take the money to Brock, show some initiative, maybe-

“Bucky?”

Bucky spun round at the sound of his name, coming face-to-face with the man he had convinced himself wasn’t going to show.

“Da?—YES! I mean, yes, hi.” Bucky felt himself blush as he stuttered out what had to be one of the most awkward and ungainly sentences of all time.

Steve just smiled brightly, a slightly sheepish hint on his face.

“I’m sorry I’m late, there was a problem at… work. Just—I’m really sorry.”

The sincerity in Steve’s voice was palpable and he was looking concernedly at Bucky, as if he was waiting for him to shout at him or be angry in some way. Bucky cocked his head in confusion, not used to being apologized to for anything and completely uncertain about what to do.

“We don’t… If you don’t want to we don’t have to go. You know…” Steve trailed off awkwardly, still looking at Bucky with a small dip still present between his brows.

He was clearly waiting for some sort of response from Bucky.

_**What do normal people do in this kind of situation?** _

Generally, if Bucky messed up and he tried apologizing, it was met with rage or irritation. But Steve was a good person, he didn’t deserve that. Bucky cleared his throat, fumbling for the suitable words in English in his mind.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologise to me, Steve. We can still go, if you want?”

That sunshine smile appeared on Steve’s face again and Bucky tried his best to mirror it, although he was sure the result wasn’t anywhere near the same. Steve’s reply was short and sweet and brimming with some kind of poorly concealed excitement that Bucky could never in a million years attribute to himself.

“Alright Buck, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Blyad!" - "Fuck!" in Russian  
> (sorry to any *actual* Russian speakers out there for my butchery of your language!)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave all the comments/suggestions you want in that lovely comments bit.


	6. Steve

When he had arrived, Steve hadn’t seen Bucky immediately.

He had stuck his face up against the grimy floor-to-ceiling windows of the café, peering for that dark head of messy hair amongst the few customers scattered around inside, but to no avail. He was just about to push the door open when he heard someone curse quietly somewhere off to his left. Even with his enhanced vision, Steve struggled at first to make out who the person was, hidden as they were in the shadows of two towering buildings and the seemingly ever-present cloud.

As Steve stepped forward, the person pushed themselves away from the shade of the wall and Steve’s heart lurched in a way that it hadn’t done in years when he saw that it was indeed Bucky.

“Bucky?”

Steve hated the way his voice wavered in that moment. Probably not as much as he hated the lost look on Bucky’s face, though.

Steve really hadn’t meant to be late.

 

*************************************

 

After meeting with Natasha and retrieving his shield, Steve had travelled back to the tower, promptly fallen into bed and slept for 14 hours. Which was great… if you discounted the fact that he had to meet Bucky at 12.30 across town and didn’t even regain consciousness until 12.

He was sure that Bucky would have left; gone back to work or out with friends. Steve chose not to try and interpret the twisting feeling in his chest when he considered that possibility, instead focusing on weaving through the heavy mid-town traffic on his bike.

It wasn’t until he was only a few blocks away that it occurred to him that bringing a car would probably have been a better option. He had a spare helmet in the storage compartment, but Bucky came across as someone who probably wouldn’t appreciate a near-stranger encroaching on his personal space. Then again, getting across town at lunchtime in a car would have proved near impossible and Steve, despite the many changes he had had to accept in this century, still held fastidiously onto his 1940’s punctuality.

Except in this instance, apparently.

Steve’s self-deprecating groan was lost in the roar of the engine as he pressed his foot down harder on the pedal.

 

*************************************

 

Bucky’s steps faltered behind Steve as they walked towards the bike.

“Is that…”

Steve looked back over his shoulder and Bucky snapped his mouth shut suddenly.

“ _Prastite_ \-- Sorry.” Bucky murmured, lowering his eyes to the ground.

Steve repressed the urge to sigh or, even worse, reach out and touch his hand to the other man’s face.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—well, I was running late and it didn’t occur to me to get the car instead so… we can just walk if you’d rather, I’m really fine either way.”

Bucky glanced up again, tentatively searching Steve’s face for something, although Steve wasn’t sure exactly what. Eventually, after a few quiet moments, Bucky’s mouth twitched upwards in something resembling a smile.

“I’ve never been on a bike before.”

Steve felt himself grinning back and he clutched his chest dramatically.

“I’m appalled. ‘Never been on a bike before’… Would you like to change that?”

Bucky was definitely smiling now. He was still looking up at Steve, his eyes flickering between Steve’s own and the rest of his face, not retaining eye contact for more than a few seconds. He bit visibly bit down on his lip, clearly trying to stop the smile on his face. When that failed, he ducked his head again and nodded quickly.

“ _Da_ , please. I’d like that.”

Resisting the urge to place his hand on the small of Bucky’s back and lead him over to the motorcycle, Steve grabbed his helmet and a spare from the back of the bike, shoving one on his own head and holding the other out to Bucky, who took it gently.

“Thank you,” Bucky offered Steve another small smile “ _gadye_ , urm, do you mind if I ask where we’re, urm, going?”

Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck quickly and pulled the helmet on, shielding his eyes as Steve looked over at him. Steve reached over and, very carefully, lifted the face guard of the helmet up so he could see Bucky’s face. He was flushed pink and was biting his lip again, clearly uncomfortable with having asked the question in the first place. Steve just smiled at him, as warmly as possible.

“Well, that depends… How do you feel about pizza?”

Bucky’s eyes twinkled as he replied.

“Pretty good.”

“Ok, well how does pizza in the park sound?”

Bucky’s face broke into the first proper, unabashed smile Steve had seen from him. It made a pleasant shiver run through his body for some reason.

“It sounds like a pretty great plan, Steve”

Steve grinned back at him and threw one leg over the bike.

“Alright then. Hop on.” Steve said, patting the seat behind him.

Bucky managed to situate himself on the bike without touching Steve once, but as soon as he kicked the bike into gear and turned the engine on, Steve felt a gentle tap on his left shoulder. Bucky was looking hesitantly at him, his faceguard still raised. Steve raised his eyebrows slightly and smiled at him encouragingly. Some of the tension visibly left Bucky’s face before he spoke.

“Is it ok if I hold on to you? I really don’t want to fall off.”

Steve barked out a surprised laugh.

“Of course it is. Here…” Steve slowly reached back for Bucky’s arms, clearly displaying what he was about to do before he did it, just in case Bucky got skittish, and wrapped them round his own waist. “Is this ok?”

He looked back over his shoulder and met Bucky’s gaze, now a lot closer to him. Bucky was wide-eyed but didn’t look scared, more stunned really, as he nodded dazedly back at Steve. Steve reached back and flipped Bucky’s faceguard back down.

“Let me know if you want to stop” he said before revving the engine once and leisurely driving the bike towards the end of the street.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, but he didn’t ask him to stop, so Steve began to pick up speed. They only had 40 minutes or so left, and the sooner they reached the park the more time they would have to talk.

There was something intoxicating about being this close to Bucky, Steve thought. Which was unfortunate, firstly, because he was driving and Steve had been told that driving under the influence was really not okay any more and secondly, because he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he felt this way. He had ridden on the bike before with Sam, Natasha, Sharon, Bruce and none of them felt like this. None of them made him feel like he should take the extra long route someplace just so their arms would stay wrapped around him. It was weird, and it was certainly nothing he had ever felt before. The closest thing he could compare it to was the time Peggy kissed him, or rather the warm, fuzzy feeling that coursed through him right after she did. But even that moment, however nice, had been different somehow. Not less, just… different. Or, maybe less.

Steve blinked his eyes a few times and gave his head a quick shake to concentrate on driving. The last thing he wanted to do was crash the bike and hurt Bucky. Steve had never really been a ‘feelings’ guy, a product of the time he was raised in, but he decided he would sit down and have a proper think through all of this later, in private, when someone else’s life wasn’t in his hands and he could think clearly, without Bucky’s warm arms clinging to his waist. Probably TOO warm, those arms, slightly feverish, but he’d wait and see if Bucky bought up feeling ill, rather than clucking over him like a mother hen.

When Steve pulled the bike up to the side of the road next to the park, Bucky’s arms immediately recoiled, but he sat patiently on the bike whilst Steve turned the engine off and kicked the stand into place.

Steve got up from the bike and removed his helmet, shaking his hair out as he did so. Bucky pulled his own helmet off his head and Steve was struck briefly dumb as he took in the huge grin on the other man’s face. Bucky’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were sparkling as he looked up at Steve, momentarily devoid of sadness or shyness. He looked happy.

Steve chuckled to himself as he spoke.

“Well, I was going to ask if you were okay but I don’t think I need to?”

A short burst of laughter left Bucky’s lips.

“ _Uimitor, genial, vreau sa merg din nou_ ” Bucky babbled excitedly, swinging his leg over the bike and jumping to his feet, handing the helmet to Steve to put away in the storage case.

“Urrrr… good? That sounds like it was good for you?”

Bucky’s grin dropped suddenly, although he was still smiling slightly.

“Sorry, that was Romanian. Yes, it was good, thank you” Bucky said quietly “At least it wasn’t Russian.”

The last part he spoke to himself as he bent down to re-tie one of his laces, but Steve’s enhanced hearing picked it up, even if it didn’t make any sense to him at all.

“Great, glad you enjoyed it. Sorry in advance if the rest of this--- urm--- lunch isn’t as good.”

Steve had to bite his tongue as the word ‘date’ almost slipped through his mouth. Bucky straightened up and shot a puzzled frown at Steve, a small indent appearing between his brows.

“Well, I’ve never been on an ‘urm lunch’ before, so even if it IS rubbish, I have nothing to compare it to.”

Bucky punctuated that sentence with a small cheeky grin, but there was still an uncertain look on his face, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should be admitting that. There was a slight pause as Steve felt himself blush and then he laughed lightly before replying.

“Neither have I, actually, so… I mean I’ve had lunch, obviously, just not…” Steve took a deep breath, not daring to look at Bucky before continuing “Not a—a date.” He spared a glance up at Bucky, checking his reaction. There was still a shy smile on his face alongside a touch of surprise so he carried on “Is that okay? If not, that’s fine, really, we can still eat? Or—or I could drive you back or—“

“Steve?” Bucky interrupted quietly, as though he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to speak. Steve slammed his mouth shut and nodded at him. “I would like that.”

Steve felt himself nod dumbly a few more times. A date. He hadn’t meant to say that. Had he? Did he really want to date Bucky? Bucky was… well, Bucky was amazing but he was also a man. Steve was a product of his time in many ways, but a predisposition towards homophobia wasn’t one of them, it never had been but… he had never had feelings for another man before. And yet, looking at Bucky standing in front of him, feeling a soft flare light up between his lungs, he couldn’t deny that that was happening right now. It was a lot to take in, to be honest. But the forced life-reevaluation would have to wait for later.

Steve shot a reassuring smile Bucky’s way, who was starting to look unsure of himself again.

“Well in that case I have the perfect place, follow me.”

 

*************************************

 

‘Giancarlo’s’ didn’t look like much.

The single, tiny, awning-covered door and small shuttered window, stuck between two massive chain restaurants and their brightly coloured signs didn’t exactly jump out at you as you walked by. But Steve knew exactly where it was.

Giancarlo Ferrami and his wife Giulia had emigrated to New York in 1909 with their (at the time) four children and set up the only Italian restaurant on the block. A lot of people in the neighbourhood at the time had been somewhat distrustful of them, as they were with all unknown quantities, but Giancarlo and Giulia had soon established themselves as the ‘parents’ of the neighbourhood. Not least due to their ridiculously amazing comfort food and unwavering kindness to whatever waifs and strays passed through their front door.

By the time Steve was born and had grown up enough to start getting into trouble almost weekly, the Ferrami’s were basically the neighbourhood’s most respected and loved figures. They also took quite a liking to Steve himself, pulling him into their brood (that by that point consisted of seven children and some of those offspring’s spouses) and giving him a place to run and hide if the neighbourhood kids were getting particularly vicious.

Steve had spent many an evening sitting playing cards with Giancarlo and his sons in the backroom or helping Giulia around the kitchen whilst his mother was at work. That’s how Steve knew that Giancarlo’s was the best around. Without the copious Parmagianas and pizzas Giulia forced his way, Steve is pretty sure that both he and his mother would have been even tinier than they already were back then.

Since he woke up from the ice, he had avoided going back to the restaurant for quite a while, afraid of the memories it would stir up whilst simultaneously being concerned that perhaps the place would have been torn down or sold to another franchise chain that people seemed so fond of these days. Steve didn’t think he could take it if Giancarlo’s now had a double arch hanging over its door…

However, around a year or so after finding himself in the future, Steve had summoned the courage one day and marched right into the place just before closing.

It was like stepping back in time.

The serving counter at the far corner of the room was still a deep mahogany colour, with random smudges of wax on its surface, glinting dully in the flickering light of the candles hanging from the ceiling above. The checked red and white tablecloths were exactly the same as they had been back then and the art on the walls seemed relatively unchanged too. What threw Steve the most, however, was the fact that Giancarlo himself seemed to be sitting at one of the tables in the middle of the room with a coffee while a middle-aged woman wearing a waist apron flitted around picking up menus.

They both looked up when the bell above the door dinged and signaled Steve’s arrival. The man’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of Steve standing there.

“I don't... Steven Grant, is that you?”

Not Giancarlo. Steve had had to remind himself, very forcefully, that Giancarlo and Giulia were definitely dead, had died years ago. But then, who..?

“Lucio?”

Giancarlo and Giulia’s youngest son let out a hoarse, belly laugh, slapping his hand down on the table, spilling a bit of the coffee in his mug.

“Yes! My God, I can’t believe—Marina, get the kid a coffee would ya?”

The woman, still with a shocked look on her face, smiled politely and hurried off to the back room.

“Come, sit, sit!” Lucio bellowed, his hoarse Brooklyn voice sounding nothing like the slightly high-pitched warble he’d had as a small child, when Steve had last seen him.

Steve had sat himself down at the table opposite Lucio and they had caught up on nearly eighty years of missed memories.

Steve hadn’t left until somewhere around 4am and it was the first time he had felt truly peaceful since coming back.

Since then he had visited Lucio and his family every month or so, just to eat and chat. He had been introduced to Lucio’s own children, including Marina, and grandchildren, many of whom had made it their mission in life to try and set him up with random women in the family who were apparently recently single or just looking for a ‘nice young man like you’. Steve had turned them down every time but, still, it was nice of them to offer.

Giancarlo’s was Steve’s safe space. And now that his apartment was basically a pile of dust, that was even more true. When it came to the decision about where to take Bucky on their-- date (he could say that now), it was really the only option for Steve. Or at least, he would get food from there and take it to the nearby park, since the weather had decided to play nice for a change.

The bell made its familiar ding as Steve and Bucky stepped through the doorway into the restaurant. They were greeted with an immediate ‘ _Ciao bello_ ’ from Marina at the end counter.

“Marina, it’s good to see you again,” He walked over to her and kissed her once on each cheek and she pet his own with one of her elegantly manicured nails “You have the food I called for?”

“Of course, what do you take me for?” Marina laughed and barked over her shoulder to the kitchen “Rudi, order for the Captain, bring it out!”

There was a muffled shout and clattering noise in response so Marina turned back to them, her smile widening mischievously as she properly set eyes on Bucky for the first time.

“Uh-hoh… WHO is this Steven? He is your _tesoro_ , no? This explains a lot _bello_ …”

Steve felt his face flush red. Maybe he didn’t think this through fully. He snuck a glance at Bucky and saw his cheeks were similarly rosy, his eyes wide and a bit dumbstruck.

Marina stepped forward and flung her arms around Bucky and his bright eyes flickered up towards Steve’s. Fortunately there was no fear there, just a slight discomfort and sense of bewilderment that Steve couldn’t help but snort at amusedly. A slight smile appeared on Bucky’s lips as he awkwardly patted Marina’s back lightly a couple of times with his right hand. Marina clung on for a few more seconds before leaning back, grabbing Bucky’s arms tightly and holding him in front of her.

“Oh, darling, let me look at your face,” Marina studied his features for a few breaths “ _Bellismo_. You got a good one Captain.” She flung a knowing smirk over at Steve before turning back to Bucky “And what’s your name cutie?”

Bucky hesitated, seemingly trying to remember his own name, before replying quietly.

“B-Bucky. Well, James, but… Bucky is—yeah”.

Marina cocked her head to the side in an assessing manner before her eyes softened and her previously lascivious smirk turned a lot warmer. She loosened her grip on Bucky’s arms and gave his forearm a small pat before pulling away a short distance.

“Cute name for a cute boy, yes? I’m sure you agree, Steven.”

Steve blushed furiously again, but Marina gave Bucky a small wink and he giggled slightly, throwing another glance in Steve’s direction. Steve took a deep breath and shook his head wearily.

“Ah, Marina… I really should have prepared for this shouldn’t I?”

Marina laughed merrily, turning back to the counter as her son Rudi dumped a bag of food onto the surface and slouched back through to the kitchen.

“Oh, _bello,_ of COURSE you should have.” Marina hefted the bag off the counter and held it towards Steve. He took it gratefully, pulling his wallet out of his jeans pocket. “Oh no, not this time Steven, this one’s on me.” Marina waved her hand dismissively at the wallet.

“Marina, I really can’t let you give me free—“

“NO! Besides it’s not for you, it’s for Bucky. He needs fattening up and my cannoli are gonna be what does it.”

“But—“

“NO! Do NOT mess with me or so help me God…” She pointed one long talon at him and Steve held his hands up in surrender.

“Fine. Fine, thank you Marina, I owe you.”

Marina smirked again and waved him off.

“Go on, off with you boys, enjoy. And you better eat ALL my food, I’ll know if you don’t!”

Steve laughed and nodded, before thankfully retreating from the restaurant, holding an arm out to shepherd Bucky along. Bucky gave a polite wave over his shoulder at Marina and Steve heard what he could only assume was a dramatic air-kiss in response. He felt Bucky huff a small laugh back and then the bell tinkled again as they stepped out into the street, Bucky first with Steve just behind.

There was silence for a few seconds before Steve spoke.

“Well, that was Marina…”

A bright smile split over Bucky’s face and Steve began to laugh before he could stop himself.

“I am SO sorry! I really thought she could reign herself in, clearly I was wrong.”

Bucky reached out and patted Steve’s arm lightly, before withdrawing his hand and tucking his arms against his own chest. He was clearly holding back laughter as Steve put his head in his hands and groaned quietly in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, _ona milaya_. I liked her.” 

Steve looked back up at Bucky who was still smiling at him and tried his best to shake off the mortification he felt.

“Okay, alright. Well, we have food, we have drink, I thought we could maybe go to the park since the weather’s not disgusting?”

Bucky nodded immediately and then blushed slightly, presumably at his own eagerness. Steve grinned at him and stepped over to where he had parked the bike, grabbing a blanket from the trunk and throwing it over his shoulder.

They made their way over to the park.

Steve was aware he cut quite a conspicuous figure, walking along in broad daylight without the usual hat/sunglasses combo he adopted when he went out in the city as ‘Steve Rogers’ and not ‘Captain America’. A few people glanced at them as they walked past, but fortunately no one stopped them and Bucky didn’t seem to notice, keeping his head bowed as he followed just half a step behind Steve.

Steve wanted to say something, anything, so that their short walk wouldn’t be completely silent but in true ‘first date’ style he couldn’t think of a single topic to bring up. He had always assumed the ‘mind going blank’ phenomenon was an over-exaggeration, but being around Bucky was clearly proving him wrong on that front.

After a couple of not-quite-but-almost awkward minutes silence, Steve threw the blanket down in the shade of a massive oak in a reasonably quiet area of the park and placed the bag of food on top of it.

“Urm, pick a spot.”

He mumbled self-consciously, suddenly second-guessing his grand plan of a picnic. Why couldn’t he just pick a restaurant like a normal person? Steve’s mind was drawn away from this self-doubt when Bucky smiled up at him and sat delicately on the edge of the blanket, as though he didn’t want to take up too much space. Steve snorted.

“You can spread out a bit if you want, I’m not that massive.”

He gestured to the large empty patch of blanket and Bucky blushed slightly before shifting back a bit, looking more comfortable with his legs not resting on the still damp grass. It was quiet again as Steve threw himself down next to Bucky and got to dishing out the food for the both of them.

The aroma of rich Italian cuisine surrounded them as they tucked into the mini-feast Marina had prepared for them. Steve was going to owe her a BIG favour. Bucky spoke first, so quietly his voice was almost lost amongst the background noise of the city.

“This is really delicious, thank you.”

Steve smiled over at him.

“No need to thank me, it’s all Marina. She’s a genius. Her whole family is amazing, actually. I’ve known them a long time…” He trailed off, not wanting to say just how true that particular statement was.

They carried on eating for a few more moments that was probably just half a minute but felt to Steve like hours as he racked his brains trying to think of something interesting or clever to say. Fortunately for him, Bucky broke the silence again.

“So, have you always lived in New York?”

Despite his own awkwardness, the more uncertain Steve seemed to get, the more comfortable Bucky seemed to be speaking and looking him, almost, in the eye. The fact that there were a few other people around probably helped too. Steve smiled again.

“Yeah, actually, Brooklyn. I grew up here.”

“No way!” Bucky’s face lit up for a second before he visibly schooled his expression into vague interest. “I mean… me too. Obviously, with this accent. Where abouts?”

“Actually right round the corner from here. Do you know where the old barbers is, ‘Parlor’ I think it’s called now?” Bucky nodded excitedly, “well I lived in the flat above there when I was a kid with my ma.”

“That’s right near me, I can’t believe I never saw you about before now. You ain’t got an accent or nothin’ though.”

“Ah, the army will do that to you, irons you out.”

It’s not exactly a lie. Technically it was during his USO days that Steve learnt to dial back his Brooklyn twang, but he couldn’t exactly say that to Bucky. Bucky’s eyes widened slightly.

“You were in the army?”

“Yep. A while ago…”

Steve let the rest of then sentence die on his tongue, not wanting to say just HOW long ago it was and stuffed half a slice of pizza into his mouth.

“Well… thank you for your service.” The way Bucky spoke made his statement sound more like a question and his cheeks flushed slightly as he stuttered “I mean, that’s right, right? That’s what you say?”

Steve choked a bit on his food as he started chuckling.

“Well, sure. You CAN say that. You don’t have to though.”

“Oh.” Bucky bit down on his lip for a second, “well, it’s really dangerous right and you don’t have to do it? So… yeah, thank you for being all brave and shit.”

Steve laughed again and Bucky smiled gently at him, holding his cup in front of his mouth, trying to hide his expression.

“Thank YOU for that.” Steve laughed.

Despite how funny he found Bucky’s awkwardness it was incredibly endearing, not to mention touching, to be given his thanks. Bucky took a sip of his drink before speaking.

“What do you do now then, since you’ve said sayonara to the army?”

Steve felt the smile slip from his face before he could do anything to stop it. Bucky’s entire body went rigid almost immediately, as if bracing himself for Steve to lash out at him.

“ _Prosti_ ,” Bucky said hurriedly, looking back down at his cup in what could only be described as a show of submission “sorry, that’s none of my business, I shouldn’t have—“

“No” Steve interrupted hastily, not wanting Bucky to close up again “it’s fine, sorry.”

Steve didn’t want to lie. Not really. But equally, the time he was spending with Bucky as ‘just Steve’ was making him feel so light and, well, happy that he couldn’t bear to bring that feeling to an end. He paused for a second before speaking again.

“I, urm, work for the government. Kind of. It’s a bit… well, I can’t really talk about it.”

Bucky’s face was stony and pale as he glanced back up at Steve and said flatly.

“You work for the government.”

Steve nodded

“Kind of. Not the government really, just an agency that works for the government, not the CIA or FBI or anything interesting like that, just…” Steve was fully aware he was babbling, but really wanted to make Bucky feel at ease again. “Well, it is confidential stuff but not—“

“Is it dangerous?” Bucky spoke quietly but he had a slightly concerned frown on his face.

“Urm. Yes, I suppose. A bit.”

“Is that why you were in the alley the other day? Did you… Is this… _Blyad_. Are you doing this to try and convince me not to tell anyone that I saw you or whatever because I wouldn’t do that anyway—“

“NO.” Steve surprised himself with the volume of his exclamation. He lowered his voice and continued “No, of course not, I just wanted… You seemed nice and you helped me out and I wanted to get to know you that’s all, I promise. I don’t want anything from you.”

Bucky finally looked Steve in the eyes, properly for the first time, seemingly searching his face for any sign of lying. Steve felt extremely exposed for a few moments before Bucky nodded and smiled timidly

“ _Konechno_ Steve. You’re definitely a secret agent or whatever, but ok.”

Steve laughed again, aware that he hadn’t laughed this much for as long as he could remember, despite the inherent awkwardness of the situation.

“Jerk. And you can call me 007.”

Bucky chuckled softly and shook his head ruefully.

“I’ll call you a punk and nothing else.”

Steve shoved another slice of pizza into his mouth to stop himself laughing again.

 

*************************************

 

Twenty minutes, three hastily silenced phone calls from an anonymous number, two awkward attempted fan-selfies that Steve hurriedly waved away and countless laughs later, Steve suddenly realized that he only had about five minutes to get Bucky back to the café.

He really didn’t want their lunch to end. Despite the slight awkwardness at the beginning of their date (Steve still had to mentally shake himself when he thought of it as a date), the longer he had sat chatting and laughing with Bucky, the more he wanted to know all about the man sitting next to him. Did he have any hobbies? What school did he go to? What was his family like? Steve’s head was buzzing with unanswered questions.

As they drove across town, with Bucky’s arms tight around his waist, Steve wanted nothing more than to pull the bike over and ask Bucky all of them, but he restrained himself. He’s NOT a teenage boy asking his sweetheart to prom, for crying out loud, he’s a super soldier. A super soldier with at least some self-control.

And yet as Bucky stepped off his bike and removed the helmet from his head, Steve couldn’t help but blurt out the one question that meant more than the rest of them.

“Can we do this again?”

Unfortunately Steve had neglected to take his own helmet off so the resulting sentence sounded completely unintelligible to Bucky and he screwed his face up in an adorably confused manner. Steve swore very quietly to himself as he realized his mistake and yanked the visor up on his helmet, gently taking Bucky’s from his hands and fiddling with the straps.

“Would you like to do this again?”

A genuine look of surprise flittered across Bucky’s face and Steve’s heart sank. Either Bucky thought that their date was rubbish or he didn’t think Steve would ever want to go on an actual date (rather than a thank-you-for-saving-my-life date) with him. Neither one was a particularly happy prospect. But after a second or two, Bucky smiled softly and ran a hand through his hair, ducking his gaze to look at his own feet. Steve could see the slight flush that appeared on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears as he nodded.

“I would really like that Steve, if you’re sure…”

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell, handing it over to Bucky.

“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” he said jokingly “you have a phone right?”

Bucky laughed gently and his eyes flickered up to Steve’s own.

“YES, Steve, I have a phone. I mean, it’s crap but… I do have one.”

Bucky went silent for a few seconds as he typed his number into Steve’s cell and handed it back. Their hands brushed momentarily and Steve felt a surge of warmth travel through him, caressing his veins as it wrapped its way up his arm and into his chest.

“I’ll speak to you soon.” He managed to blurt out, completely gracelessly.

Bucky was apparently somewhat affected too as he nodded dumbly with a vaguely vacant expression on his face, his eyes still locked with Steve’s. Steve was just debating with himself whether to just kiss Bucky or not when two women exited the café next to them, loudly grumbling about their boss and the strange aura around the pair seemed to crash suddenly. Bucky took a step back and fixed a smile onto his face.

“Thank you for lunch, Steve. I had a really great time.”

“Yeah… Yes! Me too, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

Bucky nodded again and his smile swiftly turned a lot warmer.

“Okay.”

And with a quick bite of his lip, Bucky spun round and ducked through the door the two women had just left through.

Steve placed the now-spare helmet into the trunk behind him and mentally shook himself before flicking his own visor back down. Through the window he could faintly see Bucky hurrying off behind the counter, going back to his shift.

Steve kicked the bike back into gear and, smiling to himself, revved the engine before beginning the drive back to the tower.

 

*************************************

 

No sooner had he stepped through the lobby doors than a strong hand grabbed his arm and yanked him forward towards the elevator.

“Where have you been? We’ve been calling you, like, a LOT. You’re lucky we didn’t tell Tony until just now because you KNOW he would have LoJacked you or something”

Steve just managed to hold in a sigh as Clint pushed him past the queue of people waiting for the lift and through the doors, hastily pushing the ‘Door Close’ button before any of them could even take a step towards the elevator.

Steve shot them an apologetic glance as the doors slid shut and him and Clint began their ascent to the top floor.

“Do you know what? You don’t even have to tell me where you were, I don’t care…” There was silence for a few seconds. “It was like Bingo or something right? Oh, OH! Bridge! Were you playing Bridge?”

“No Clint, I was not playing Bridge. Although it’s a fine game, might help you with your tactical planning. I highly recommend it.”

Clint squinted up at him for a second.

“That was a joke right? Was it? I can never tell with you.”

Steve kept his face carefully blank and Clint shrugged.

“Whatever, I really don’t care. Just answer your phone next time. Here’s a rule for ya: If we call you more than once in quick succession, you should REALLY pick up the phone because there could be a national emergency or something.”

“Is there?” Clint scratched his head.

“Is there what?”

“A national emergency.”

“Oh. Well… No. Not really. But next time there might be and THEN there’ll be trouble. Literally.”

Steve didn’t bother trying to hold in a sigh this time. The slightly ‘glow-y’ feeling he had felt with Bucky was being worn painfully thin already and he had only stepped into the tower a minute or so ago.

“Ok, Clint. So what’s going on then? If it’s not a national emergency, what do you need me for?”

Clint shuffled his weight around for a few seconds before answering as the elevator came to halt.

“Nat said she’d tell you when she finds out if Hydra’s back.”

“Yes. How’d you know—“

“She’s here. And, guess what, she has something to tell you.”

The doors opened and Clint stepped out, Steve following right behind him, a buzzing sensation building in the back of his brain as adrenaline rushed though his body. Tony, Natasha and Bruce turned as they walked up to the table in the centre of the open plan room and Natasha straightened up as she addressed him directly. Steve silently begged her not to say what he knew she was about to say.

“They’re back Steve. Hydra are back.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress so if you have any suggestions/requests, leave them in the comments and I will see if I can incorporate them somewhere! x


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